


The Empress, The Soldier, The Weapon.

by catapparel



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Eventual Romance, F/M, Older Woman/Younger Man, Relationship(s), Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-10-28 14:10:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10832886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catapparel/pseuds/catapparel
Summary: Akira Kurusu returns to Tokyo after five and something years of silence. A boy no longer, but a man with the same burning sense of injustice lingering in his gut, he seeks out his friends and his long repressed love to halt the weaponising of the Cognitive Psience research. Story will contain major Persona 5 plot spoilers. Slow burn Sae Niijima/Akira Kurusu pairing.





	1. Departure and Return to Tokyo

**Author's Note:**

> Major plot/ending spoilers for Persona 5 will follow in this story! You have been warned.

 

 

Akira hesitated at the door to the street. Coffee lingered in his nostrils, that warm, familiar smell people had come to recognise him by. Jamaican Blue Mountain, he grinned. That was his favourite. He recalled trips in Mementos where Futaba would nuzzle his shoulder as Morgana bumped and rumbled along the tracks, breathing in deep with a satisfied smile at the aroma on his neck. No perfume needed, only the subtle scent of LeBlanc. 

 

The bell tinkled as he pushed the door open, creaking, and the pleasant aroma of coffee was washed away by the sharp metallic odour of the back alley. Exhausts and thick, humid air he never quite got used to flooded over him. He sniffed. His nostrils burned and he fought a grimace. Country boy after all. 

 

Akira adjusted the ever-present bag that hung from his shoulder. It swung more forcefully than he had meant to, and he frowned. The familiar weight of Morgana was missing, the warmth that rested against his back during the day and the slight rumbling of his purr too. Akira felt his stomach pang. He sighed, turning to take one last look over his shoulder at LeBlanc before closing the door behind him, like he had so many times before. Only this time, it was likely for good. 

 

‘ _ No, _ ’ he caught himself. ‘ _ Not for good, only until I return to Tokyo. It's not as if this is forever. _ ’ 

 

The bar where he would sit for curry and coffee almost every morning sat empty. The wood was pale and worn in spots, polished smooth by plates and wet cloths every day. The stools were their overstuffed selves, leather bonding straining at the seams. Akira chewed the inside of his cheek. Perhaps there was some irony that he wouldn’t sit there on his last day; mouth burning from the curry painstakingly prepared each night before, quips exchanged with the owner, coffee hot and comforting. His eyes turned to the formidable rack of bean jars that lined the back wall, some still pristinely sealed - the rare, expensive ones Sojiro loved to admire in his spare moments. 

 

Sojiro. Akira grinned to himself. Sojiro, the curry and coffee connoisseur. Sojiro, what he would miss the most of out the rundown, homely, dated and wonderful shop. The door to LeBlanc swung closed behind him, and Akira swiped a hand along his cheek. 

 

Another person might have strolled at a comfortable pace on his last day in Yongen. They would take in all the back-alley shops and curious people, mouthing a few quiet goodbyes to the shopkeepers they had come to know. Akira didn’t. His face turned downwards, avoiding the overcast sky and blank faces of those he passed, hands buried in the warmth of his pockets. 

 

That is, until he heard a familiar, smooth voice. 

 

“Kurusu.”

 

The mop of wavy dark curls flicked upwards, black gaze behind clear glass searching for the sound of her voice. 

 

Niijima waved. Akira blinked. 

 

“I was hoping I’d catch you on your way to the station. Today is your last day, right?”

 

Akira’s feet led him closer, but his mind struggled to catch up. ‘ _ Sae? What is she doing here? _ ’.  The elder Niijima raised an eyebrow at his silence, but continued on, sparing Akira the stumbling, shy reply he knew would spill out otherwise. 

 

“I used to come by here on occasion, you know,” Sae smiled, turning her gaze down the alley. “I was always a fan of Sakura’s coffee.”

 

Akira nodded, trying to ignore the lump forming in his throat. He could smell her perfume. Visions of interrogation rooms and handcuffs swam before his eyes, as did Christmas Eve at the square, where she had smiled genuinely at him for the first time. It had taken his breath away. 

 

The way Sae spoke made it sound like she wouldn't be returning. 

 

“I never did get to sample your barista skills, now I think about it,” The corner of Sae’s lips tugged further upwards as Akira reached up to scratch his neck, avoiding her glance. “So let me know next time you come visit. I’ve heard great things about the talents of the Phantom Thieves, after all.”

 

Akira’s fingers grasped the business card she offered, eyes raking a cursory glance. The small card was crisp and printed neatly. Proper and elegant, just like her. 

 

“Sae Niijima. Defence Lawyer.” He read aloud, a pleased grin curling his features all the way to his eyes. 

 

“Mhm,” Sae nodded. “Former prosecutors are very reliable, you know. Don’t hesitate to call me if anything happens.” 

 

“Thank you, Sae,” Akira bowed, hair falling into his eyes. “For everything. I’m glad we met.” 

 

He heard her readjust the bag on her arm, weight shifting from foot to foot. He looked up. Sae wore a sincere, honest smile, one that reached her eyes. Akira swallowed. The gaze he so often caught as piercing was soft. Her eyes - the deep, so brown they were almost red - watched him, calm and sincere. 

 

“I am too.” 

 

With that, Niijima turned on her heel, and left. Her strides were long and sure, and Akira let out a breath that had puffed his cheeks as he watched. Sae Niijima was something. More than something if he was honest with himself, but on his last day, filled with goodbyes and memories, he wasn’t. 

 

\---

 

The uniform felt restrictive around his neck, all angles and starched lines, ironed and folded just as it had been drilled into him for the past five and something years. He knew he looked immaculate. It was the only standard the armed forces would allow, after all. He didn’t feel it. Akira glanced down at his hands. ‘ _ Sae Niijima, Defence Lawyer _ .’ He had to use memory to substitute some of the letters missing from wear as he read over the address of the building for what was probably the thousandth time. His fingers smoothed over the corners of the card, trying to wipe away the dirt and dust it had picked up on its travels in his pocket. He returned it to his wallet, tucking it away in the fold of his jacket. 

 

The train’s brakes made their familiar whine, and Akira glanced up. He ignored the curious stares; schoolgirls who tittered behind their hands, businessmen who seemed torn between contempt and admiration, and children, full of fear and wonder. Artificial light flooded through the train windows, lighting up all the nonchalant passengers waiting to board on the platform as they shuddered to a halt.

 

“ _Shibuya. This stop is Shibuya. Please locate the exits to your left._ ” 

 

Akira stood, adjusting the rucksack on his shoulders. It was laughably light. He had returned to Tokyo just as he had arrived so long ago, with naught really but the clothes on his back and a burning hunk of lead at the bottom of his gut. 

 

The muscles of his jaw clenched and unclenched, teeth in danger of grinding themselves into dust as the crowd jostled him out of the train doors. He had forgotten how claustrophobic Tokyo and it’s line platforms were. He squeezed out of the train and onto the uniform concrete, only to find himself adrift in a seething mass of people. A sea of black-haired heads swam under his vision as he searched for the stairs. Height had been one of his constant advantages, and he used it to pick out a line through the people that involved the least bumping and battering. 

 

Akira took the stairs heading above ground two at a time, breath simmering in his throat. The emergence onto the station square was a relief so palpable he just about bent over to catch his breath. The city was overcast and smoggy, but he took great lungfuls of the thick air all the same. The people seemed to wash away as he caught his breath, leaving him sticking out like a sore thumb. 

 

“What about that guy?” The cameraman mumbled from the corner of his mouth.

 

The journalist turned in response, pretty ponytail fluttering behind her. The two of them examined the uniformed man from their prime people-watching spot in the corner of the square.

 

“Defence Force! Not too often you see them around here unless it's for riots.” She whispered conspiratorially. “Let's go.”

 

Akira smoothed a hand over the skin of his forehead, the bangs from so long ago well and truly gone. ‘ _ Okay. Now all I have to do is get on the Ginza line. C’mon, you can do this. You used to do it every single day for Syujin. _ ’ He took a deep breath and turned on his heel, ready to descend back into the hive of buzzing people. Only his body tensed and he took a step back, arms taut at his side. The Journalist blocking his way offered him a grand, false smile, and the cameraman had his livelihood pointed far too close to Akira’s face. 

 

“Good morning, Sir! A pleasure to make the acquaintance of a brave serviceman.” 

 

Akira nodded quickly, eyes searching for a way to get past the pair without bowling them over. He missed his glasses as the journalist followed his gaze, fetching brown haired head bobbing in his vision no matter which way he turned. It was times like these he also missed Ryuji’s street smarts. That boy could navigate Tokyo the way Futaba could navigate a computer. 

 

Only, he wouldn’t be a boy any longer, and Futaba would be excelling at University by now. Akira blinked away the gnawing rat he called guilt that liked to rear its head from the tangled nest in his head. 

 

“Excuse me.” 

 

The cameraman jostled as Akira pushed past, and he harrumphed, exchanging a look with the journalist. 

 

“Typical military types, eh? Psh.” 

 

The journalist hummed in thought. Military type, maybe, but she could swear she had seen that face before. 

 

Akira descended the stairs back into the underground as fast as he had climbed them. He lingered on the last step, dark eyes scanning the hanging signs dotted along the ceilings. ‘ _ Saikyo. Shonan-Shinjuku. Yamamote. Dammit, where the hell is the Ginza line? _ ’

 

“No, no, no.” Akira muttered under his breath. 

 

Nostalgia flooded over him, but not in the good sense. He felt transported back to his first arrival. Standing on the same stairs, feeling the same sense of confusion and isolation. Only now, it was his normal state of being, albeit repressed down and hidden behind a few shiny badges pinned to his chest and an insignia sewn onto his shoulder. 

 

A bump against his bag, threatening to topple him off the bottom stair.

 

“Ah shit, sorry man. Oh, uh- Sir?”

 

Akira spun around, turning fast enough he could have gotten whiplash. ‘ _ That voice..? What are the chances? _ ’ 

 

Brown eyes and blonde hair looked back at him. Akira stared, feeling his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline in surprise. ‘ _ Surely he would have gotten rid of that God-awful shade of blonde by now? _ ’

 

“Ryuji?”

 

The man blinked in surprise. 

 

“Uh, yeah? Do I know-.. Wait a minute..”

 

The two men stared at each other. A pair of young girls sighed from the bench nearby. It was a scene straight out of a K-Drama. 

 

“..Akira?” The man breathed. No,  _ Ryuji _ breathed. Akira was sure. There was no mistaking that canary hair and dumbfounded gaze. 

 

Akira cracked a grin so wide it threatened to split his cheeks. He stuck out his arm, hand waiting. 

 

“Eff that!” Ryuji exclaimed. 

 

Akira truly did topple from the stairs this time, a loud ‘ _ ooph _ ’ forced out of his lungs as he stumbled onto the platform. Ryuji’s squeezing hug threatened to burst a blood vessel. Akira snaked an arm around his friend’s shoulders, grinning to himself. If the Phantom Thieves ever reconvened, he'd be codenaming him Python.

 

\---

 

“Can’t believe I let you rope me into this.” Akira shook his head, but the smile on his lips betrayed his voice.

 

“Yeah, yeah. It's only been five and a bit years man, you can’t have forgotten all the shit I got you into back at Syujin that quickly.” Ryuji said, bumping his shoulder against Akira’s as they walked. 

 

Yongen hadn’t changed much. The same stores displayed their quirky banners, with their equally quirky owners milling around the back alley that led to LeBlanc. Akira’s head was high, and his cheeks were almost sore from the smile that had planted itself there ever since he had met up again with Ryuji. 

 

“You ready, man?”

 

Akira hesitated at the door to LeBlanc. The sign said open, but as it had always been, the only sound that wafted from the small shop was that of the coffee grinder. 

 

He fidgeted with his lapel, feeling extraordinarily out of place in his uniform. It itched against his skin, and his bag felt cumbersome, weighed down with all the regret of five long years away from his friends. 

 

“Is everyone really in there? How did you get them all together so fast?” His voice was low. If he spoke too loudly, Ryuji would be sure to notice his nervousness. 

 

“All I had to do was mention your name, to be honest.” Ryuji laughed. “Now c’mon man, that curry is  _ calling _ to me.” With that, Ryuji swung open the door to LeBlanc and disappeared inside. 

 

Akira remained rooted to the spot. The aroma had hit him like a freight train. Blue Mountain. He swallowed and reached into his pocket, fingertips smoothing over the worn leather of his wallet. He could hear questioning voices and the coffee grinder pausing its churning whir. 

 

“Long time no see.”

 

Akira started, head swivelling as he searched for the voice. 

 

“Down here.”

 

Morgana met Akira’s gaze. The cat sat utterly unfazed in the doorway, tail swishing as he licked his paw. The blue eyes were as piercing as ever as he watched him.

 

“Morgana!" Akira breathed. "Just this once, have I got permission to pick you up?”

 

Morgana let out a thoughtful mew, pretending to examine his paw in thought.

 

“Oh, I suppose.”

 

Akira wasted no time, leaning down to scoop his friend into his arms. Morgana let out a long-suffering squeak, but that soon settled into a contented purr as Akira’s deft fingers located the spot just below the cat’s ears. He scratched in earnest, lips turning upwards as Morgana rubbed against his palm. 

 

The moment was peaceful, and more than Akira had hoped for. Until he felt a set of sharp teeth clamp down on his finger. He yelped in surprise, nearly dropping the cat.

 

“And that's for disappearing on us for five years! Where the heck have you been, Joker?” 

 

Morgana clambered from Akira’s grasp onto his shoulder, tail swishing against the back of the man’s neck as he settled into his old perch.

 

“I’ll tell everyone and save time.” Akira sighed, taking one steeling breath before pushing the door to LeBlanc open. 

 


	2. Skylines and Coffeehouses

 

 

Akira reeled in his booth seat. His body was a jumble of sensations, ones that usually didn’t mix outside of the bedroom, he supposed. His cheek burned from the multitude of slaps he had received, while his forehead tingled from the lingering sensation of lipstick coated kisses. He felt a bruise forming on his shoulder, but his neck was still flushed from the remaining warmth of the hugs from his friends. 

 

He was the squashed meat in a Futaba and Ann sandwich in his spot, uniform crinkling around his hunched shoulders. He could hear his commanding officer shouting in his ear about decorum, even here. Makoto sniffed quietly across from him, small, lithe fingers brushing away the tears that had dripped past her eyelashes. Haru sniffled into the sleeve of her puffy pink jacket, head resting against Makoto’s shoulders. Akira’s stomach panged. Had he been braver, he would have reached a hand across the table to squeeze their fingers and apologise wholeheartedly. 

 

But he wasn’t. He was overwhelmed. The cozy, quiet space of LeBlanc seemed to press in against him. The row of coffee jars seemed a looming tower, and the comfortable booths seemed to rise up behind him, just where he couldn’t see. Akira fidgeted in his seat, hands buried in his pockets instead. The wallet had been opened and the card pulled out in a motion so rapid and familiar it had all but brought said card to pieces.

 

“Mmh,  _ God _ , that was amazing.” Ryuji exclaimed from his spot at the bar, pushing away his empty plate, deigning to return his gaze to the rest of the party. “I dunno why I haven’t come back here in so long.”

 

“For the same reason as the rest of us, I suspect.” Yusuke replied from behind the square of his hands. Grey eyes peered out from the frame of his fingers. Hair so black it was almost blue nearly covered his whole vision. “It's never been the same without him.” 

 

Akira would have laughed at Yusuke’s permanent bluntness, and agreed in embarrassment, had he been a few years younger. But he wasn’t, and the only sensation he felt was the mounting pressure from his body to get up and run. 

 

“Akira.. Is everything alright?” Makoto’s observational skills had not faded in the slightest. Akira struggled to meet her gaze across the table, neck feeling strained as he felt Futaba snuggle closer. 

 

The prodigal commissioner watched him. She missed nothing. Not the way his body coiled like a spring - jaw clenched and eyebrows furrowed, hands missing, and back pressed against the booth. Not the way he had hardly spoken a word since arrival, his silence more profound and worrying rather than endearing, like it used to be all those years ago. 

 

Akira mouthed wordlessly, any reply in his head pushed aside by his instinct to flee. The booths wouldn't be a problem. He could stand, leap over the back of them, nevermind Futaba and Ann. 

 

“You look like you need a cup of coffee.” Sojiro announced from his spot behind the bar. Like Makoto, he had noticed Akira’s plain discomfort. “Come on you two, give the man his space.”

 

Ann and Futaba huffed in unison but slid out from the booth, allowing Akira to dart past. He didn’t notice the looks of worry exchanged between his former teammates, eyes only focused on the sparse expanse of the countertop before him. It was very close to a wooden oasis.

 

“What’ll it be?” 

 

Akira glanced up. Sojiro didn’t smile, didn’t have a hint in his voice of disappointment. He stood there behind the bar, cloth wiping the glass he held, waiting. Akira sighed in relief.

 

“Jamaican Blue, thanks.”

 

“That’ll be 500 yen.”

 

The taller man blinked in his seat at the counter. Sojiro sniffed, turning his back to him as he retrieved the jar of Akira’s favourite beans. It was only when the coffee siphon hummed into life that he heard the giggling. It started as Futaba’s gentle cackle, then Ann’s snort of amusement, until all his friends had burst into laughter. Akira turned on his stool, shaking his head at his friends. 

 

“What, you didn't think you'd be getting a freebie, did you?” Sojiro smirked, hands performing the coffee making ritual ingrained down to his very bones. “You've got nearly six years of labour to make up for.”

 

Akira only smiled, lifting his head to take in the scene for what felt like the first time. The girls all sat in the booth, Makoto sitting straight backed and proper, Ann slouched with her feet prodding Ryuji on a chair nearby. Haru had become the new target of Futaba’s snuggling, and Yusuke sat on the floor, Morgana purring in his lap. They were the same, but so different. 

 

Akira cleared his throat. The burning question had descended from his thoughts and settled on his tongue. 

 

“Where's Sae?”

 

He saw the looks of surprise exchanged across the table. Makoto looked conflicted, glancing at Ryuji, who shrugged his shoulders. 

 

“I.. Well, I haven't told her you're back.” Makoto replied, voice slightly uneven. 

 

Akira nodded, pulling his hand from his pocket and extending it across the gap. Sae’s card nestled in his fingertips, ready to fall apart at any second. Ryuji snatched it away before Makoto could grab it. Akira felt his hand curl into a tight ball. He had to stop himself from commanding Ryuji to be gentler. 

 

“S.. Sae Niijima. D.. Deaf? Dentist?” Ryuji squinted at the card held a few millimeters from his eyes. Ann peered over his shoulder, blonde hair shorter, no longer pinned away. 

 

“Detective?” Ann offered, eyes scrunched.

 

“Defence Attorney.” Makoto supplied, hand waiting for Ryuji to pass it over. She smoothed the ratty card as she attempted to read it, brows furrowing close. “Where did you get this, Akira? It's wrong. Sae hasn’t worked for that firm in years.”

 

“Ah, do you know where she is now?” He swallowed down the answer to her first question, which Makoto didn't miss. She regarded him with a faint curiosity as she returned the card across the table. Akira heard a saucer clink behind him as Sojiro set his coffee down. 

 

“She asked after you a few times, y’know.” Sojiro commented, flopping the teatowel over his shoulder. Akira turned in his seat after making sure the card was safe in his pocket. “Wondered where you were, what you were doing. I couldn't answer her. None of us could.”

 

‘ _ So she did come back here after all _ .’ Akira realised. He hesitated with his reply. The answer was an easy one, only pitiful and painful to dredge back up.

 

“Shipped off to the Japanese Ground Forces, the minute I turned eighteen.” He monotoned, fingers curling around the warmth of his coffee mug. “My parents had enjoyed the taste of having this burden out of their house,” Akira touched his own chest before taking a sip from the mug. It was perfect. “So they suggested I apply for the SDF once I was old enough. Either that or leave home, and trust me, my record may be gone, but the memory of me in my home town will still be gossiped about for the next ten years, at least. No-one would give me a job.”

 

Silence met his admission. Akira ignored the stares he felt burning into his back, trying to focus on the sublime taste and aroma of the brew Sojiro had prepared. That was easier. Easier than facing his oldest, most loyal friends. 

 

“Why didn't you come back here, ‘Kira?”

 

The younger Sakura’s voice was low and soft. Akira felt his heart ache, just like it had when he had imagined Futaba’s hurt voice in his head every night for that first year away. 

 

“I couldn't burden Sojiro for another year,” Akira shook his head, prising his fingertips from the coffee mug, lest he shatter it in his grip. “No transport, no cash, no prospects. Besides, Syujin was glad to see the back of me. A second enrollment? No chance.”

 

“Kosei,” Yusuke voiced. “My school. You could have tried there.”

 

Akira finally turned around, his chest aching harder as he saw the sad looks on each of his friends faces. 

 

“Me, Kosei?” Akira laughed a gentle, deprecating hum. “The best I can draw is a stickman. Maybe one with a face. I'm no prodigy, Yusuke.”

 

“We could have figured something out.” Ann voiced. She was quiet. Blue,  _ blue  _ eyes were watery as she met his gaze. “You always did for us. No matter how impossible it seemed.”

 

There were murmurs of agreement. Akira sighed, reaching into his pocket to palm the familiar card. It soothed him, even though he could feel a fresh tear in the corner. Thanks to Ryuji’s rough treatment, no doubt. He made a mental note to smack the back of his blonde head later.

 

“I'm sorry. Truly. I had to sell my phone for the train ticket to Yokosuka.” The excuse sounded poor to his own ears, and he cringed internally. At the blank looks he received, Akira elaborated. “Yokosuka is where the National Defense Academy is located. I graduated nearly two years ago.” He placed his mug down and gestured to the insignia stitched on his collar and his shoulder. 

 

“Sergeant Akira Kurusu. Reporting to Nerima base, as of next week. I've been stationed there.”

 

“Wait, you're moving back? To Tokyo?” Haru piped up, the hopefulness in her voice cutting through the atmosphere like a knife. 

 

Akira felt his neck warm up as everyone's eyes turned hopeful, all watching his face. 

 

“Uh, yeah- yes.”

 

For the second time that day, he was nearly toppled over by his friends. Ann’s wayward hair blinded him as her arms squeezed around his shoulders. 

 

“Akira, you idiot! Why didn't you say that at the start?!” 

 

The man only smiled into her shoulder, eyes closing as he felt the press of his friends turning the moment into a group hug. A rough hand tousled his short hair, and Akira grinned against Ann’s jacket. That had to be Sojiro. 

 

“Guys!” Akira heard the small, pathetic mewl from somewhere below. “Pick me up! I wanna be in on this too!” 

 

Akira wasn't sure who did it, but warm fur brushed against his cheek a second later. The laughter and purring every inch around him melted away every injustice in his life. For now.

 

\---

 

“Thanks for this, Makoto.” Akira said, awkwardly holding onto his rucksack as he crossed the threshold to Niijima’s apartment. 

 

“Don't mention it. Just leave your boots by the door.” Makoto called, disappearing somewhere down a dark hallway. 

 

“Thanks for this, Makoto.” Akira said, awkwardly holding onto his rucksack as he crossed the threshold to Niijima’s apartment. 

 

“Don't mention it. Just leave your boots by the door.” Makoto called, disappearing somewhere down a dark hallway. 

 

Akira did as she asked. He untied his boots with easy familiarity, pushing them into a neat line against a pair of sky-high heels by the door. He scanned the shoe rack, smiling at the pair of leather boots that looked a lot like biker gear nestled away. He noted the pair of dress shoes next to her heels. They were mens. 

 

He turned his gaze to the wall of windows at the edge of the spacious room, moving closer for a better look. Tokyo was bare and bright below his perch dozens of stories up. Train lines and overpasses crisscrossed the city like neon arteries, a blast of metal blood racing by every thirty or so seconds. 

 

The kitchen laid dormant to his left, counters immaculate and Niijima’s fridge dotted with notes written in beautiful Kanji. To his right a lounge, which looked like it had laid dormant for as long as he had been away. The only sign of life was the sprawl of papers on the coffee table, dossiers and folders stacked in a haphazard tower at the side. 

 

Makoto had done well for herself. Exceedingly so. He of all people knew the price to rent anything larger than a shoebox in the capital would have you ready to saw off an arm and a leg each month the bills came in. 

 

The woman herself watched him from her spot at the end of the hall. A careful smile lingered at the edges of her lips. Kurusu was taller, broader and handsome, standing there in his uniform. His _uniform_. Makoto shook her head, feeling sadness well up behind her eyes again.   She remembered the highschool dream of the young, bright eyed and floppy haired youth. The dream where he planned to ace his last year of school in his home town so he could return to the capital the next year, and follow her to Tokyo U. Only the year finished with no response to any of her or the others messages or calls. Then the next, and the next, until all any of them sent were sad, half-hearted birthday wishes, and until eventually even those were returned by a cold robotic voice informing them the number had been disconnected. The only thing that prevented them from thinking he had died was Morgana’s dulled, wistful assurance that Akira was alive, only AWOL. He would know, Morgana had said, if Akira was gone. He would just know.

 

Makoto sighed, stepping forward from the darkness. Akira turned to her, one hand peeping out from his pocket as he gestured to the room. 

 

“You have a lovely apartment. I'm guessing you could even see the ocean from here on a clear day.”

 

“Yes,” She affirmed, shedding her jacket. She folded it in two and hung it over the edge of the leather sofa as she rounded the furniture to him. “Perk of the job, if you're wondering the price. I'm still small fry really. Sae’s connections helped a lot.”

 

Akira nodded thoughtfully, mind wandering to the kind of apartment he guessed the elder Niijima might have. ‘ _ Sae and her husband, even. Sae, her husband, and two kids _ .’ He cleared his throat, blinking away the strange rush of emotions that particular line of thinking brought up. 

 

“There's so many questions I've wanted to ask you over the years, you know?” Makoto sounded weary, tucking her knees underneath her as she settled into her sofa. “Little things. Did you ever beat your highscore at the arcade? Did that bite on your ear  _ actually _ scar when you told Morgana he couldn't stay?”

 

Akira’s laugh was gentle as he inched closer, settling his rucksack against the table. 

 

“I even texted them to you sometimes. At first I'd get excited when my phone would buzz, but it was never you.” 

 

Akira sunk into the couch cushions. The leather was cool and soft, much like Makoto’s voice. 

 

“I used to double-take when I'd see a guy in the lecture theaters with those curls you used to have.” Makoto glanced curiously at the short, stern cut of Akira’s hair as he sunk into the other end of the couch. 

 

“Is it still as soft as it used to be?” She blurted, a hint of a giggle in her voice. 

 

Akira leaned forward, bowing his head. Makoto’s fingers delved into his growing locks, scratching in slow, soothing movements. He grinned.

 

“It’s a good thing Morgana isn’t here. Think he’d be jealous right now.”

 

Makoto laughed as she withdrew her touch, curling up further into herself at the other end of the couch. Akira raised his head, and looked properly at her. She was as beautiful as ever. Crimson eyes with the barest beginnings of lines at their edges looked back at him, examining him as thoroughly as he to her. Her hair was longer. Sleek, aligned edges brushed along the line of her collarbone. His eyes drew to the silver necklace hanging around her neck.

 

‘ _ Where have I seen that before.. _ ’ Akira wondered, brows drawing close in thought.

 

“It’s the same as Sae’s.” Makoto answered his unspoken question, that inquisitive edge returning to her scarlet gaze and her voice. “A gift for my twenty-first birthday. Speaking of my sister, who you seem to be _very_ curious about. Should I be worried?”

 

Akira pulled the card from his pocket, trying not to glare at the ripped edge. 

 

“I have business I need to discuss with her, that's all.” 

 

If the younger Niijima noticed the half-truth he whispered straight through his teeth, she didn’t comment. 

 

“Is that what you keep fidgeting with in your pocket?” She gestured to the flimsy bit of card he rotated between his fingers.

 

He looked at her, surprise written all over his face. ‘ _ Is there anything she can’t deduce? _ ’

 

Makoto chuckled, a warm, genuine sound.

 

“Don’t you remember me telling you off for having your hands in your pockets all the time back at Syujin? It makes you look informal.” 

 

“Your skills never cease to amaze, Queen.” 

 

Makoto rolled her eyes, but smiled all the same. She stood, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear just the way she used to. Akira watched her tread over to the kitchen and open her fridge. He could see it was more or less empty, save for a few bottles of water and some lonely looking condiments. 

 

“I’ll call her in the morning before I head to work. That’ll be around seven thirty, so no sleeping in. Got that Joker?”

 

Akira got to his feet, chuckling a ‘yes ma’am’ as he reached for his rucksack. He didn’t have to rustle around for long, fingers curling around the smooth plastic of what he searched for soon enough. He inspected it before handing it over. A few nicks here and there, but that was to be expected after its cross-country jaunt across war zones and borders. 

 

“Makoto.”

 

“Hmm?” Niijima didn’t turn, shoulder deep in her fridge, reaching for that  _ one  _ bottle that always had to roll right to the back. 

 

“I have something for you.” 

 

Makoto turned around, victoriously clutching a bottle of water.

 

“What is it?” She queried, a hopeful note high in her voice. 

 

“Oh, uh, not much really. I just- I saw it while I was.. away, and it reminded me of you.”

 

Makoto outstretched her hand. Akira deposited the small figure into her warm, waiting palm. 

 

There was a pregnant pause as she turned the figure over in her hands, examining all the finer details of the motorbike and its precarious little rider. Her fingers traced the small nick in its helmet. 

 

“You remembered.” She breathed, striding past Akira to the shelf to the left of her apartment door. Akira followed meekly behind, a warm blush burning its way up his neck. ‘ _ Of course _ ’, he answered. It never made it past his teeth.

 

He smiled as he examined the shelf. Several other figures, all of the same collection, were lined up on the eye-level rack. They were all in a far more pristine condition than the one he had just handed her. Even the one he had gifted her back at the arcade five years ago. It sat at prideful centre place, not a speck of dust to be found on its leather clad shoulders.

 

Akira watched as Makoto did a bit of skillful rearranging, making space for the new figure next to the old one he had bought her. He snorted. The two were quite a pair. One clean and cute in its charming victory pose. The other looked rough and dirty - no matter how much Makoto rubbed her sleeve against the plastic the dust would just  _ not  _ come out. 

 

“They make a good pair.” Akira commented, prompting Makoto to raise an eyebrow at him. He shrugged, one hand scratching at his neck. “Reminds me of us.” 

 

Makoto turned her gaze back to the figures. She smiled.

 

“I’m this one, by the way.” Makoto watched Akira’s long fingertips graze the shoulder of the pristine figure. It took her a second before she let her laughter bubble over, smacking away Kurusu’s hand. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, Sae Niijima. At last.


	3. Sae's Skyscraper

 

 

‘ _ Dawn is beautiful _ ’, Akira thought. He had been up early enough to see the first few rays of sunlight break the morning haze over the Tokyo skyline. Though he couldn’t quite see the steely grey of the ocean he knew lie to the east, he could make out a faint shimmer reflected in the clouds, even from this distance. 

 

Kurusu’s body clock was still attuned to that of a soldier well-used to morning wakeups. Yet in Makoto’s high rise apartment there was no commanding officer lurking behind concrete corners, eager to dish out morning training. Akira stretched from his spot by the window, shoulders and knuckles popping as his fingertips brushed the ceiling. 

 

The rest of the apartment seemed still wrapped up in slumber. He and Makoto had retired relatively early the night before, with the faint, low voice of her partner arriving some time later in the evening. Akira had listened to the brief thrum of conversation that passed through the walls, guessing the man was wondering just who in God’s graces boots were sitting at their doorway. The door to the guest bedroom hadn’t been kicked in during the night, so Akira guessed Makoto had smoothed over any possible misunderstandings. 

 

Akira crossed the room back to his rucksack, fishing out his other change of clothes. A rock and a hard place faced him from the bed as he placed down his selection. His combat uniform was clean enough, but that wasn’t the problem. He stuck out like a sore thumb in it. Full camouflage in a concrete city presented the exact opposite of its purpose, and that he did not need. 

 

The dress uniform, on the other hand, seemed almost outrageous with its flashy, masculine design. Akira felt a nagging reminder that he should be feeling a sense of pride and duty as he took in the olive-grey suit, golden buttons and fixtures gleaming in the low morning light. He didn’t. He felt ridiculous. He sighed, and set about undressing and dressing in his usual strict, methodical fashion. 

 

The cap was one of the last items needing to be donned, following the stark white gloves Akira had tucked away into a spare pocket. The rim was surprisingly soft as he traced its drab edge, smoothing a fingertip over the golden insignia at the helm. 

 

“Later.” He murmured to himself.

 

He spared a glance around the room, double-checking he had left everything the way he found it or better. The futon was stripped; sheets and pillowcases folded into a neat pile at the foot of the bamboo mat. Rucksack in hand he slipped out of the guestroom and padded down the hall toward the kitchen.

 

The scent of coffee was the first thing he noticed. Akira sniffed, and slowed his pace to a catlike stalk down the hallway. 

‘ _ Instant, by the smell of it. Burnt from the water being too hot. _ ’ His nose crinkled. 

 

The front door to the apartment clicked closed with a soft ‘ _ shick _ ’ as Akira entered the lounge, a moment too late to catch the departee. Makoto had her back to him at the counter in the kitchen, tipping what he guessed was the remains of her partner’s half-drunk coffee down the drain. 

 

“Good morning, Niijima.” Akira offered a slight bow, missing the way Makoto jumped at her spot near the sink.

 

“Ah- Morning, Akira.”

 

He offered a brief smile, meeting her crimson gaze across the room. Her eyebrows were raised, and her mouth twisted at the corners, not unpleasantly. 

 

“You look.. Well, you look..” She trailed off, hand gesturing in the air like a dying butterfly. 

 

“Dashing?” He supplied, taking a seat at the edge of the sofa to tie up his boots. “Debonair? Dapper?” 

 

“Hmm..” Makoto pretended to consider the selection. Akira smiled at the ground as his fingers tied the laces. She sounded amused, and he found he liked that. A lot.

 

“Shall I move onto the next letter of the alphabet? How about elegant? Exquisite?”

 

“Dignified, I think. I’ll save you the embarrassment of having to come up with words for F.” Makoto replied, watching him straighten up as she stirred her coffee. 

 

“As gracious as ever, Miss Pres-, Miss  _ former  _ President, that is.” 

 

Makoto waved her hand at him in a flippant motion. Akira smiled, knowing that still meant ‘shut up.’

 

“You really do look quite something in that uniform, Akira.”

 

“Too much of something in this, I think.” Kurusu mumbled, smoothing any errant wrinkles that had dared to form on his jacket. 

 

He reached into his pocket, fingers searching for his wallet. There was a momentary spike of panic that flashed through his head until he remembered he’d tucked it away in his trusty rucksack. 

 

‘ _ Dammit, why did I go ahead and do that? _ ’

 

“I wish I could be there to see Sae’s face when you meet,” Makoto giggled, one small hand coming to cover her mouth. “It’s rare I get to see her anything other than totally in control.”

 

“What makes you think she won’t be when she sees me?” Akira queried, one eyebrow raised in mock-suspicion. 

 

“Have you looked in a mirror recently, Kurusu? In say, the last five years?” 

 

The man chuckled, reaching up to run long fingers through short locks. He guessed he was quite the shock of a sight compared to how he had looked the last time any of his associates from the big city had seen him. No curls, no glasses. Not a scrawny, bushy-tailed youth any longer.

 

“Didn’t want to get starstruck.” 

 

Makoto scoffed at his joke, wandering around the counter as she peered around the room.

 

“Hm. My handbag..” She murmured, mostly to herself. 

 

Akira perked up, head practically on a swivel as he sought the chance to be helpful. He spotted it at the far end of the coffee table, hidden behind one of the black wooden legs. 

 

“Here.” He piped up, lifting the leather bag with one hand. He shot the bag a startled glance. The handle strained in his grasp, the weight pulling his arm muscles firm. “Geez Makoto, what’ve you got in here? Bricks?”

 

“Ugh, I know. Who knew paperwork could be so heavy?” She commiserated, accepting the bag from him. 

 

Akira watched as she rifled through her belongings, eventually surfacing with a chic, gunmetal-grey phone. 

 

“Good battery?” 

 

Makoto blinked as she scrolled along her screen, cocking her head in an indication for him to elaborate. 

 

“Doesn’t need charging each night?”

 

“Oh,” Makoto blushed, and Akira bit back his surprise at the reaction. “No, it usually does. I uh, I left my charger at my boyfriend’s place. I’m not here every night.”

 

‘ _ Ah _ ’, Akira tried not to grimace. ‘ _ That’s why she blushed. _ ’ He had to actively fight the urge to make a rash, jealous, totally undeserved quip. He settled for silence. 

 

“I have Sae’s number here,” Makoto found his gaze, noting the apprehension in his eyes for the first time that morning. “Shall I make the call?”

 

Akira nodded, not trusting his voice to hold steady. 

 

\---

  
  


Akasaka was every bit the business district its reputation had preceded. Buildings loomed tall and broad enough to block out most of the sparse sunlight, ever watchful monoliths peering down at the endless crowds below. Kurusu felt much like a child, following diligently behind Makoto as she picked her way through the swarms of people, one hand firm on her handbag. Akira felt pleased. She was more than aware of the strange men that never quite seemed to move with the flow of the crowds, their eyes never at their destination, always at pockets, and backpacks, and big, shiny,  _ pluckable _ cellphones. 

 

“Here we are.” 

 

Akira stopped in his tracks, having to crane his neck backwards to take in the building before them. It looked new. Another glass and steel monstrosity that clawed ever higher to the heavens. Shiny copper lettering spelt out the name of the firm above the doors.

 

“Thank you, Niijima.” Akira inclined, hands itching to dig their way into his pockets. “For last night, too.” 

 

Makoto shook her head with a smile, spying a few scandalized looks fired their way from passersby. Kurusu always did have a way with words. An oblivious, stupid way with them.  

 

“Its nothing.” She replied, watching the way Akira very obviously steeled himself to march into the building. And march he would, in a uniform like that. “I only ask that the next time you contact me will be in about six hours, not years.” 

 

The man let out an apologetic chuckle, adjusting the cap on his head. 

 

“Akihabara is my next stop after this meeting. I’ll come out of there with a phone or so help me God.” He promised. 

 

‘ _ Electric town, _ ’ Akira mused, feeling his neck tense up at the memory of the crowds. ‘ _ How did I ever coach Futaba through there? _ ’

 

“I look forward to it. Well, good luck with your meeting.” Makoto wrapped Akira into a gentle, one-armed hug. “Tell Sae I said hi.”

 

“I will.” Akira vowed. The tone of his voice was solemn enough for him to have swung a death sentence.

 

The young commissioner nodded once, then let the crowd carry her away.

 

Kurusu sucked in a breath, turned on his heel, and strode into the building with all the confidence of a man in his prime.

 

Or so he appeared. The secretary behind the large, onyx coloured desk watched him like a hawk as he approached. A gaggle of businesswomen nearby paused their hushed chatter, brown and black eyes settling squarely on the firm behind of the army man who’d just marched into their den. 

 

“Good morning, Miss.” Akira offered smoothly as he slowed before the receptionist’s desk, removing his cap in one fluid movement. There was not a hint of nerves in his voice. “I have an appointment with Ms. Niijima.”

 

“Good morning, Sir.” The woman replied. Pastel pink fingernails tapped into a furious rhythm on her keyboard. “Please confirm your name and meeting time.”

 

“Sergeant Kurusu. Nine AM.”

 

“Not just some young cadet either, eh?” A businesswoman prodded her friend in the side, the pair exchanging coy smiles as they very obviously eavesdropped on the nearby conversation 

 

Akira shifted his weight, trying not to crinkle the cap he held between his fingertips. He missed the worn texture of his card. The receptionist read something in silence, then offered a placid smile as she picked up the reception phone.

 

“Nine AM for Ms. Niijima. Name Kur-,” The secretary caught herself, bowing her head at him in apology. “ _ Sergeant _ Kurusu.”

 

There was an exchange of ‘ _ mhm _ ’s and ‘ _ yes _ ’s over the phone before the receptionist hung up, granting him her full attention. 

 

“Ms. Niijima is ready to see you now. Please take the elevators on your right to the twenty-third floor. An attendant will meet you there.”

 

Akira flashed a smile at the woman and inclined his head before making his way to the lift bay. An attendant did meet him the minute he popped out of the sleek elevator doors. He seemed even more disinterested than the first.

 

“Good morning, Sergeant Kurusu,” The young man droned, reading off a sheet of still-warm printed paper. “Please follow me to your appointment with Ms. Niijima.”

 

Akira inclined his re-capped head, gesturing for the glassy eyed man to lead on. Had it been a few years earlier, Akira might have suspected the guy another sad case of the mental shutdowns. 

 

The twenty-third floor turned out to be a mix of cubicles and large, glass walled offices with shadowy figures lurking inside. The sound of rapid keystrokes and furious mouse-clicks echoed across the floor. The only human noises that escaped the silence were appreciative sips from a coffee cup here and there and the occasional sniffle. It all played out underneath harsh fluorescent lighting that burned the corners of his vision. 

 

Kurusu hated it already, and he’d only been here five minutes. He hoped Sae had one of the offices, rather than being relegated to the sorry maze of workers that stretched out before him. 

 

His hopes were affirmed as his silent guide stopped outside a tall, dark door. Akira read the nameplate with a fond smile. ‘ _ Niijima Sae, Defence Attorney _ ’. It was one thing to read it on a once freshly-minted card, and another to see a solid brass plate inscribed with her name and title on it. Pride blossomed in his chest.  

 

The assistant bowed to Akira before giving the door three solid raps of his knuckles. He did, then  promptly disappeared back down the hallway they had come from. Akira stood rooted to the spot, eyes widening in astonishment. He wondered if the man had raced away because he was scared of Niijima. Being honest, he doubted that guy would have been the first. 

 

His thoughts and composure were instantly blown away by the breeze that washed over him as Sae’s door swung inwards. Akira blinked once, twice, then turned his head, meeting the warm, brown-enough-to-be-red gaze of Sae Niijima. 

 

Had Akira been talking, his voice would have caught and cracked in his throat. Had his hands been buried away, his fingertips would have ripped the card in his pocket in half. His mouth went dry, and he felt his heart leap up into his throat. 

 

“Akira,” Sae greeted, the faintest hint of a pleased laugh colouring the end of his name. The corners of her cheeks dimpled when she smiled, and Akira had never seen something he wanted to touch more. “It's a pleasure to see you again.”

 

He had to tear his vision from her face to the hand she outstretched. Her nails were still painted purple. 

 

Sergeant Kurusu mustered the last of his false courage and took Sae’s hand. He lifted her slender knuckles to his mouth and placed a kiss so tender it would have made anyone watching blush and turn away. 

 

\---

 

He couldn’t stop smiling. Akira rubbed a hand along his jaw for probably the fiftieth time since he had sat down, trying to wipe away the curve of his lips before Sae noticed his manic expression.

 

She placed the tray on her expansive desk and poured two glasses of cool, crystalline water into a pair of cubic, modern glasses. Akira was mesmerised by her slim wrists and smooth knuckles, though he suspected he could watch Sae untangle a set of earphones and remain equally enraptured. 

 

He could smell her perfume. It was different to the one he remembered on her last, but the change wasn’t unwelcome. Her scent was warm and sweet. He likened it to vanilla froth on a LeBlanc latte.

 

‘ _ I never did take her up on that coffee request. _ ’ Akira suddenly thought, a rush of their last goodbye playing through his mind’s eye. He wondered if Sojiro would ever let him behind the bar again. If he’d ever let him shut up shop and usher Sae in to spoil her, kissing her cheek as she sat at the bar, smiling at him as he’d place coffee and curry before her that had never been made with more love.

 

“Of all the guesses we took about your whereabouts that first year..” Sae began, settling across from Akira in a high-backed leather chair. He cleared his throat, washing away all the fantastical visions in his head. 

 

“The Japanese Self Defence Forces never ranked very high. And here you are in front of me now,” She shook her head with a smile. “Sergeant Akira Kurusu, graduated from Officer School second in his class, with a deployment already under his belt and a promotion heading his way at Camp Nerima.” 

 

The man before her smiled, gaze kept to the table between them. Had Sae not known any better, she might have picked him as shy. 

 

“You’ve done your research. I swore to you a long time ago that I wasn’t a liar, so I’ll spare you the pretense that I’m surprised.” 

 

A silver eyebrow raised. That was more eloquent than she remembered. 

 

“I have.” Sae admitted, bringing the glass of water to her mouth. She took a sip as she opened the folder conveniently laid before her. “Let's get down to business.”

 

Akira could feel his heart rate spike from a cool forty-five to nearly triple that as he tried his damndest not to stare at Sae and the press of her lips against her drink. Lipstick the colour of blood lingered on the rim as she set her glass back down, and Akira had to stop his tongue darting out to lick his lips.

 

‘ _ This is ridiculous, _ ’ He berated himself, one finger hastily loosening his collar while Niijima was distracted reading over the papers. ‘ _ You’re not seventeen any more man, get it together! _ ’ 

 

“No disciplinary action, no comments except positive from your superior officers, a stellar training record.. Physical and academic results always in the top percentiles.. You appear to be the model soldier, Sergeant.” Sae murmured, eyes sweeping across her document. “So why was your request against your transfer denied? Even with its support from your Warrant Officer..”

 

Akira was content to watch Sae pick apart his record from his seat. More than content. He swallowed past his own beating heart lurking behind his tonsils, amazed that she hadn’t fired him that stern, quizzical look she got when something didn’t quite make sense. The confusion in this case was that she couldn’t hear the pounding of blood rushing past his ears. 

 

Sae paused her rapid intake of information, fingertips lingering on one certain sentence.

 

“Are you certain you’re comfortable with me having all this information, Kurusu? Its quite detailed.”

 

Akira nodded, wondering just what she had hesitated on.

 

“I trust you. Though that will have to leave the building with me.” He gestured to the brown dossier. “Technically, any civilian except my medical practitioner should never have eyes anywhere near that.” Akira admitted. He reached for the glass she had poured for him across the table. “Even then, they’d receive a more.. Redacted copy, I’m sure. It's only thanks to my Warrant Officer this got to you at all.”

 

“If only I had photographic memory.” Sae offered him a quick smile. 

 

Ten minutes of quiet, serene silence followed. Sae read, and Akira tried not to burn a hole in her forehead with the intensity of his staring. He could hardly help it. Her hair had lightened a shade over the years, still pinned away in that swept, sharp look he’d last seen in the fading light of a Yongen-Jaya alleyway. 

 

Her blazer was a soft navy that paired her pale skin so perfectly Akira was dreaming up a palette for Yusuke to use only on his best works. He’d name it something cheesy and terrible, just like the feelings that made goosebumps erupt on his skin every time her eyes flashed in his direction.

 

“There’s something not right going on here.” Niijima stated, leaning back in her chair with a frown. “You have a perfect record and good standing with your superiors. Why would they deny a simple request? One that you are most definitely not the first to make.” 

 

“I can answer that.” Akira offered. 

 

He reached for his cap, and Sae watched with mounting surprise. He flipped the hat upside down and located the hasty, shoddily sown pocket behind the brim. Niijima leaned forward in her chair at the sound of popping stitches, cherry-red gaze eager for him to reveal what had been so cleverly hidden.  

 

Akira’s fingertips returned with a piece of paper, squished and folded down enough to be cramped into an espionage-esque compartment. Sae met his gaze as he offered it to her across the table. Akira looked stern and solemn. The curiousity burning her gut burned almost as strong as the spark that burst as their fingers brushed. 

 

She unfolded it with all the patience of a kid on Christmas morning and smoothed it in front of her on the desk. 

 

Kurusu didn’t miss the sharp intake of breath she sucked past her teeth.

 

“Operation Hera.”

 


	4. Crepes and Conspiracies

“I thought the cognitive psience research had been disposed of after Shido.” Sae glowered at the worn bit of paper, re-reading it for the tenth time already. 

 

“We should have known they’d never let something as powerful as that disappear,” Akira shook his head. “It's just been passed over from one corrupt organisation to the next. Only this time we have a lot more security and red tape to deal with, and no palace.” 

 

“I can’t think of a worse place for it have ended up than the Army.” Sae rubbed at her temples, a frown already gaining permanence on her face. Akira swallowed. Five minutes back in her life and he’d brought of pile of stress and worry onto her shoulders.

 

“I’m sorry to lay this all on you at once,” He murmured, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t know who else to trust. I tried talking to my superiors, hell, I even tried to get info from further up the ladder. But you know what its like,” He grimaced. “Politics and power-hungry men who don’t see anything but a payrise they’re happy to turn a blind eye for. I got told to stay out of it. The only one on my side back there was my Warrant Officer, and he’s already done everything he could.” 

 

“And so you came here.” Sae finished. “I appreciate your trust, Kurusu. But why me? I’m just a defence attorney.”

 

“Not just any,” Akira met her eyes. “I heard about that case last year. I knew the soldier you got acquitted. One of only a handful of winning cases against the Police in over a decade. You’re impressive, Niijima. Not only that, but you already know about cognitive psience and how dangerous it is. And more than that, I  _ know  _ you’ll see justice done.” 

 

Sae hummed in thought, taking a sip from her water. His words were blunt and short, but the compliment felt nice all the same. 

 

“Unless I’m missing something, there’s no falsely-accused soldier here to defend, Akira. And my only contact in the defence forces is sitting in front of me.”

 

“Exactly,” Akira breathed, feeling his nerves from earlier start to tingle back into life. “I’ll be your in, but I can’t blow the whistle. You know what will happen. It’ll be swept under the rug the minute I even  _ think  _ about blabbing, and I’ll probably be court-martialed.” 

 

“So what are you suggesting?” Sae frowned. 

 

“Do you remember a politician from my file all those years ago? A good one, that is.” Akira smiled a small smile at the memory of his friend shouting into a megaphone in Shibuya Square. “An associate of mine. Toranosuke Yoshida.” 

 

“Ah yes,” Sae folded her hands on her desk. “Previously known as ‘ _ No-Good Tora _ ’. Now a prominent member of the reformed Diet. What about him?”

 

“I called in a favour. That promotion coming my way?”

 

Sae inclined her head, gesturing for him to continue.

 

“It’ll see me taken under the wing of Major Tsuyoshi Saito.”

 

“Let me guess,” Niijima said slowly, the frown receding from her features. “Major Saito is involved with Operation Hera.”

 

“He’s involved in the command of at least one unit dedicated to Hera,” Akira affirmed. His heartbeat had begun pounding in his ears again. There was no turning back now. “He’s our in.”

 

“Impressive.” Sae mused. Akira pushed back into his chair, realising he had leant towards her in his excitement. Niijima looked pensive. 

 

“I know this is a huge thing I’m asking of you,” Kurusu said, reaching for his cap. “I don’t expect an answer right away. And I won’t lie, I’ll be disappointed if you decline. But I’ll understand.” 

 

Akira got to his feet. Sae watched him stand from her chair, crimson gaze eyeing the badges pinned to his uniform. They glinted in the afternoon sunlight that had peeked into her windows. She was mostly still, except for the rhythmic, gentle tapping of an indigo fingernail on the brown dossier. 

 

“How should I get in touch with you?” She asked, coming to her feet and rounding the desk in an effortless, elegant motion. 

 

“Ah,” Akira blinked. Any succinct reply was lost as Sae neared him. She handed him his documents back, waiting for an answer. All he could focus on was her perfume. He imagined burying his head into her neck, inhaling the scent right from the source. “I- I haven’t had a phone for some time.” He admitted.

 

“You must be one of the only people in Japan that can say that.” Sae replied. The corner of her lip tugged up in amusement, especially at how taken aback Akira appeared by her joke. 

 

A lump formed in his throat as he imagined kissing the corner of her mouth. He wondered if she'd taste as sweet as she smelt. 

 

“Makoto has me under the threat of death if I don’t buy one today,” He rubbed his neck, looking away from her before his face burned up. “I’d better not get offside with the constabulary on my first day back in Tokyo.”

 

“You saw Makoto?” Sae asked.

 

“Oh, yeah. She told me to tell you she said hello.” 

 

A fond look settled on Sae’s face at the mention of her younger sister.

 

“Its been too long since I’ve seen her last,” She confessed, folding her arms across her chest as she perched on the edge of her desk. “I must get around to meeting that guy she keeps telling me about.” 

 

“Going to make it a double-date?” Akira watched her expression from the corner of his eye, trying very hard to keep his voice joking.

 

Sae was far too adept to miss the underlying question in his voice. He should have known. She raised a sculpted eyebrow at him. Akira hurried to put his cap back on, hoping the blush she’d prompted by her smirk would disappear. 

 

“Thank you for meeting with me today, Niijima.” He said a moment after collecting his thoughts and clearing his throat. His bow was more than low enough to be polite. “I look forward to hearing from you again, no matter the answer to today.” 

 

Niijima pushed off from her desk, turning her back to him for a moment as she plucked a card from its plastic holder. 

 

“Message me on this number once you get your phone,” Sae said, offering Akira a crisp black business card. He accepted it with a reverence that she found strangely endearing. “That way you won’t have to make an appointment every time we need to discuss something.”

 

The card had a matte finish that felt pleasant to the touch. Akira traced his thumb over her name in the centre, a grin forming on his lips at that familiar text. ‘ _ Niijima Sae. Defence Attorney _ ’. 

 

“I will,” He promised, sliding the card into his breast pocket. “Akihabara is my next stop.” 

 

Sae lingered at her door as she watched Akira walk away. His head was high and he carried himself with strength and confidence, sure in his purpose. She looked to her hand, remembering the cool press of his lips on her knuckles when he’d greeted her. The skin there tingled at the memory. Sae shook her head to herself. 

 

Her last memory of Kurusu had been a quiet, unassuming boy in dire need of a haircut. The only part of that memory that held true was the fact he was quiet. Akira was not a boy or unassuming any longer. She noted the heads that turned from their cubicles to watch the uniformed man stride past, and she smiled. 

 

\---

  
  


Akira cursed to himself, not for the first time since he had entered the shop. People seemed to pop out from the woodwork, smiling and chatting and touching. Only they were all too close, too suffocating, too much of an unknown variable. Kurusu clenched his fingers at his side, trying to focus on the fingerprint smeared display of the phone in front of him. 

 

It was black and shiny, just like the ten others lined up next to it. He puffed out a breath, trying to read the list of its specifications for the fifth time. The words blurred in his eyes as he felt people peering over his shoulder. The hairs on his neck stood up, and the urge to bolt that had been rising in his stomach since the minute he had left Niijima’s office was at an all time high. He flicked his eyes along the displays, searching for the highest number.

 

‘ _ The most expensive has gotta be the best, right? _ ’ He lied to himself, shifting away to a less populated exhibit.

 

He examined the silver phone on its theft-proof perch. The screen was big, and it looked sleek. Akira glanced to the price, eyebrows shooting into his hairline. ‘ _ A hundred thousand yen?! Is it made out of gold? _ ’ 

 

“Good evening Sir! I see you have great taste!” Kurusu met the gaze of a peppy sales assistant, shooting him a tight smile. “The Mango Eight Plus is the pinnacle of modern phone technology..”

 

Akira stared blankly at the man as he launched into his sales pitch, eyes bright as he gestured wildly about screen size and Wi-Fi technology. 

 

“I’ll take it, thanks.” Kurusu interrupted.

 

The man paused mid-speech, looking slightly forlorn that he wouldn't be able to finish his spiel. 

 

“Well, excellent! If you’d follow me to the counter, Sir, I’d be happy to put through your purchase.” 

 

Akira exited the shop, bag in hand and wallet significantly lighter in his pocket. The relieved breath he’d been saving up burned in his chest. It was even more crowded in the street than it had been in the shop. He swept his gaze over the crowds, looking for the old, familiar alleyway he used to cut through when he came to meet Yuuki Mishima here all those years ago. 

 

The alley was blessedly empty. Akira sighed, peering into the plastic bag to make sure no-one had nicked his new phone during his rush through the sea of people. He sat on a nearby bench, undoing the packaging on his new purchase with little ceremony. 

 

A cheerful fruity mascot waved at him from the screen, irritating as it held his hand through a setup tutorial so simple a dog could do it. Eventually he got to his home screen. It was loaded with apps he’d never use and features he’d never even heard of before. He ignored them, tapping on the little address book icon. 

 

Sae’s number was the first he entered, and Akira laughed to himself at the keyboard suggesting a cute pink heart be placed at the end of her name. ‘ _ If only _ .’ He thought, also entering in Makoto’s number he’d been sure to memorise that morning. 

 

Akira watched the crowds for some time once he'd finished, waiting for them to recede before he planned his escape route. He was considering where to stay for that night when his phone buzzed. Akira blinked in surprise, bringing the screen closer to his face.

 

‘ _ Who could have this number already? _ ’ He frowned, opening up a message from an unknown contact. 

 

‘Smile for the camera, Joker!’ The text read, and Akira could only blink stupidly as he heard his front camera shutter go off. 

 

‘Not your most flattering angle tbh. Inari would be disappointed with your composition.’ 

 

Akira rolled his eyes. ‘ _ Futaba. Should have known _ .’

 

‘How did you know this was me so quickly? I’ve barely turned it on.’ He typed, slower than he remembered being. He was out of practice.

 

‘Alibaba has her ways!’ Akira grinned at her reply, finger tracing the cute little emoji at the end of her message. ‘Are you coming back to LeBlanc tonight?’ 

 

Kurusu considered his response. He glanced at the time on his phone. The evening had crept up on him. He hadn’t realised his discussion with Sae had consumed nearly the whole day, though he certainly wasn’t complaining. 

 

‘Sure,’ He typed, visions of hot coffee and curry making his stomach growl. ‘Do you want me to bring anything back from Akiba?’ 

 

‘Just yourself’. 

 

\---

 

The sign on LeBlanc’s door read ‘CLOSED’ as Akira arrived. The evening had cooled considerably and his breath was starting to fog in the air. ‘ _ That curry keeps getting better and better _ ’, he thought, rubbing his hands together. 

 

His uncertainty on whether or not to knock was answered by the door swinging open. Sojiro bustled his way outside, back turned to Akira.

 

“Need a hand, Chief?”

 

Sakura nearly jumped out of his skin. The boxes in his arms rattled loud enough to set off a nearby dog’s bark.

 

“Christ, boy!” Sojiro exclaimed. He turned on his heel, peering at Akira over the boxes stacked head-high. “You nearly gave me a heart attack! What are you doing here?”

 

“I’m here for curry and coffee.” Akira replied, gesturing to the sign above the door. 

 

“Well you’re too late,” Sojiro sniffed, shuffling the boxes in his arms. “We’re closed.”

 

Kurusu stepped forward, ignoring Sakura’s glare as he took the two top-most boxes from his grasp. 

 

“I can do that.” He said gruffly.

 

“I know,” Akira replied, settling the boxes on his shoulder. “And you know I can make curry. If you and Futaba haven’t eaten, why don’t you let me cook?”

 

“What makes you think I want you in my kitchen? I just got done washing up for the day.” 

 

Another man might have been insulted by Sojiro’s firm words. Akira only grinned, beginning his walk down the alleyway to the Sakura residence. 

 

“Because you know I make a damn good curry. Learned from the best, after all.” 

 

Sojiro scoffed from somewhere behind him. 

 

His insistence he could carry  _ all _ the boxes seemed to disappear as they arrived at the gate of his house. Akira let out an ‘ _ ooph _ ’ as Sakura shoved his share of the cardboard crates into his arms, moving past him to type in the pin-code for the gate. 

 

“Well? Come on then, I don’t have all night.” 

 

Akira followed him into the house, trying not to send any boxes flying into the bushes with their precarious stacking. He set them down on the counter-island in Sojiro’s kitchen, looking around almost in awe. 

 

‘ _ How have I never been in here before? _ ’ He wondered, taking in the tidily kept space. It wasn’t a large kitchen by any means, but it was organised and tidy, with a rack of impressive knives in the corner and a collection of cast-iron pans hanging above the stove. Akira brushed a hand along the countertops, enjoying the cool, smooth texture of the faux-marble. 

 

“Nice kitchen you have here, Sojiro.”

 

Sakura grunted something illegible, head buried in the boxes as he digged around.

 

“What was that?” Akira asked, smiling fondly at the school photos of Futaba stuck to the fridge. The most recent one had her grinning cheekily at the camera, ginger bangs shorter and face more angular. She looked different. Older. 

 

“I said don’t get used to it,” He moved aside as Sojiro tapped his shoulder, pulling open the fridge and putting ingredients away. “I don’t usually invite strange dudes into my house.” 

 

“Ouch.” Akira laughed, shaking his head. 

 

“Futaba should be here soon,” Sojiro punctuated the end of his sentence with the closing of the fridge door. “Said she was picking something up on here way here.” 

 

“By herself?” Akira blurted.

 

“Yeah. She hasn’t had her ‘big brother’ here to help her out the last five years, so she’s had to make do.”

 

“All I can do is apologise.”

 

“No it isn’t,” Sojiro paused on his way out of the kitchen, pointing a finger directly at Kurusu’s chest. “You’re back now, and I expect you to make up for these past years. The others might have let you off the hook, but you can be damn sure I haven’t.” He folded his arms across his middle. “You weren’t here to see how devastated Futaba was once you were gone. Didn’t even bother to send a text. It half undid all the progress she’d made, you know?” 

 

Akira bowed his head. Everything Sojiro was dishing out was more than deserved. 

 

“Anyway,” Sojiro grumbled, slicking his hair back. A few strands had come loose with his firm words. “Just don’t disappoint her like that again, got it?”

 

“Got it.”

 

“Good. Now hurry up. If you’re cooking us dinner I don’t wanna have to wait all night.” 

 

Akira followed Sakura back out into the street, uniform forgotten. He wasn’t a tough serviceman around Sojiro, only a quiet young man trailing behind the only decent father figure he’d ever known. 

 

\---

 

Akira flung the teatowel over his shoulder, sidestepping Futaba as he put the dishes away. 

 

“Urg,” The young Sakura groaned, flopped over the counter. “I ate too much.”

 

Sojiro chuckled from his spot at the booth. He had a freshly made espresso in one hand, the other holding the day’s newspaper aloft so he could read it. 

 

“Guess you won’t be wanting dessert then.” 

 

“What?” Futaba perked up, ginger bob springing into the air. “I didn’t say I was  _ that  _ full.” 

 

Akira met Sojiro’s gaze, the men exchanging a knowing look.

 

“So what’re we having, father dearest?” Futaba called in a sing-song voice, pretending to waddle over to Sojiro. “Are you gonna make dorayaki? I could  _ so _ go for pancakes right now.” She said dreamily, collapsing into the booth next to her guardian. 

 

“I thought you were full?” Akira called, hands splayed on the bar. 

 

“Don’t you listen?” Futaba shot him a grin. “I’m  _ never  _ too full for dessert!” 

 

“I thought we’d get crepes,” Sojiro suggested, folding up his newspaper and placing it neatly in the centre of the table. “That's close enough to pancakes.”

 

“Ooh, good idea, Dad! I’m feeling strawberries and caramel for my toppings. Actually, maybe green tea icecream.. Or maybe..” Futaba trailed off as she sprang back to her feet, all fullness forgotten. 

  
Kurusu watched Sakura hide a smile at the way Futaba referred to him as her dad. ‘ _ Shes lucky, _ ’ Akira thought to himself, feeling his jaw tighten as memories of his own father swam into mind. ‘ _ But she deserves it. _ ’ Akira pushed aside his own bitterness and grinned at the scene in front of him. Warmth bloomed in his chest at the sheer domesticity of it all. He could get used to this. 


	5. Majors, Bases, Messages

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much to all commenters, kudos givers, and readers. Your encouragement makes my fickle mind write faster.

The rest of the week passed by in a heady blur of friendship and laughter. Akira was passed from residence to residence. His quarters ranged from sleeping on the floor of Yusuke’s artist’s hovel, to Haru’s spare room that looked like something out of a fairy tale, to a couch in the barest, most run-of-the-mill student apartment that Ryuji called home. Every single night had been amazing. Mostly the ones where he simply sat with his friends and caught up on five-going-on-six years of absent memories. 

 

As all things seemed to in Akira’s life, however, the week ended abruptly. It was almost as if the deadline had snuck up on him and sucker-punched him, in the form of a late night call from Camp Nerima's administration faculty. The giggling fits and half-drunken card games of his last evening turned to sunken eyes, and sips turned to gulps from Ryuji’s cheap bottle of whiskey. 

 

It was Akira’s blonde headed friend that walked with him now down the street, following the long, bland wall that separated military from civilian. Curls of barbed wire adorned the tops of the cream-coloured walls, just in case anyone was stupid enough to vault over and into an army base.

 

Ryuji looked increasingly nervous as the wall grew shorter, allowing a brief peek into Nerima Base. Trucks and machinery were parked further inside, guarded by stern looking men in uniforms the same as Akira’s. All the buildings were the same monotonous cream colour, boring and strict. Sakamoto hoped his friend wouldn’t lose his fire and end up the same.

 

“Geez, just how big is this place? Feels like we’ve been walking for miles.” He complained, rolling his shoulders as he walked. 

 

Akira kept a brisk pace, saying nothing. It felt like a punishment to be returning to this life. He’d had a taste of what could have been, of what he might have had. Sharing a cramped apartment and eating cheap ramen every night with Ryuji. They’d stay up late playing video games and cramming in study. They’d talk about cute girls at their University, and plan trips to Harajuku to scope out Ann’s model friends. To some it might sound tedious and terrible. To Akira, it sounded like paradise.

 

Instead, he’d be returning to a five AM physical training routine and lacklustre meals in the mess hall with strangers that had already been friends with each other for years. Kurusu took a breath and reached into his pocket for his ID, having spied the gate checkpoint coming into view. 

 

“This is where we part ways, Ryuji.” Akira stated, feeling the two sets of eyes in the army booth settle squarely on his back. “I’d give you a tour, but civilians aren’t allowed any further without a permit.” 

 

“Civilians, huh? Is that what I am to you now?” Ryuji joked, punching the taller man in the shoulder. His voice was weak, but he was trying.

 

“Nah,” Kurusu allowed a grin. “You’re still just an idiot to me.” 

 

“Ooh, big words, army boy.” 

 

Ryuji gave Akira a goofy salute, and he tried not to laugh at Sakamoto’s familiar antics. 

 

“So anyways, when’ll we see ya again? Think you’ll be free this weekend? Oh, there’s this fair that's gonna be happening at my University, and man, the  _ girls  _ there. With that uniform? You’ll have to fight them off, dude. Chicks dig the soldier look.”

 

“Not this weekend,” Akira grimaced, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Probably not for a while. I’ll be assigned to a new unit with new guys and new orders. No time for fairs.”

 

“So what, a fortnight? We’ll be able to have a proper celebration this time then.”

 

“Not a fortnight, Ryuji. Maybe not even a month. I’ll be living on base. My new position will be very sensitive - I can’t afford any time away.” 

 

Sakamoto stared at his friend, eyes turning downwards at the corners.

 

“Man, I thought you were moving back. Now you’re tellin’ me you can’t even spare a weekend for us? This is bullshit.”

 

Akira said nothing. Proximity to the base had reminded him of his position, and a part of him rankled at Sakamoto’s coarse nature. The other, more sentimental part felt ashamed. He was letting his friends down.  _ Again _ . After his promise to Sojiro it stung all the more. 

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Yeah, you’ve already said that.” Ryuji huffed, scratching his head. “Well, see ya I guess. Whenever that’ll be.” 

 

“You’ve got my number, right?” Akira suddenly asked, tapping his back pocket to make sure he hadn’t forgotten his new phone. 

 

“Yeah, why?”

 

“Well, I might not be able to see you guys as soon as I’d like but that doesn’t mean we can’t talk. Maybe even video chat. I know it's not the same but-”

 

“It's better than nothing.” Ryuji interrupted, his face brightening slightly. “Yeah, that could work.”

 

“Settled then.”

 

The two men attempted a handshake but fell into a hug, ending it with overly hard thumps on backs. Akira watched Ryuji wander off until he heard someone calling out. 

 

“You there, Soldier!”

 

Kurusu turned, adjusting his rucksack on his shoulder as he marched to the booth. Two men stared back at him from behind bulletproof glass, eyes falling to the rank sewn into his collar. 

 

“Good day, Sergeant.” The shorter man greeted, offering him a salute. The lankier man at his side followed suit. Akira returned the gesture.

 

“Good morning, Privates.” He slid his identification onto the counter that separated them. “Where is the administration block located?”

 

A good hour later and Akira had arrived at his dormitory room after a quick welcome from whatever staff had been unlucky enough to be passing by. The floors of his building were an unpleasant beryl green; clean enough to make his boots squeak. The walls were blank and silent, pockmarked with old pinholes from posters decades gone. It was still; lifeless. Likely because the building was dedicated to non-commissioned officers like himself. Most his rank and above were past the rowdy party stage that accompanied fresh recruits, content to berate them for what they once enjoyed instead. Akira was torn between feeling grateful and feeling dejected. He looked around the room.

 

A small, single bed that he could already see was too short for him lined the leftmost wall, paired with a rickety bedside table circled with old coffee-cup rings. A plain built-in desk faced it on the opposite side, and at the far end of the room lay a solitary window, facing out onto the grey, bleak courtyard three stories below. Akira dumped his rucksack on the desk and moved to the bed, collapsing onto it. His feet dangled off the edge.

 

A buzz vibrated in his back pocket.

 

‘Any news from your first day back? Niijima’ 

 

Akira propped himself up on one elbow, a pleased smile stretching his cheeks. The room suddenly seemed princely and spacious. The springs digging into his body seemed a lot softer, and the window beamed in pale sunshine rather than frosty mid-morning light. He hadn’t expected to hear from Sae. The text was short and businesslike, but he felt elated all the same. 

 

‘Nothing yet. I meet with the Major tomorrow.’ His fingers hovered above the touchpad ‘ _ Should I ask her about her day? Or is that too informal? _ ’ Apparently his brain decided for him, typing out the rest of the message fast enough that he had to go back and fix a few typos. ‘How are things on your end?’ 

 

He stared at the screen, eagerly awaiting the buzz of her reply. 

 

‘Business as usual. Let me know if you hear anything interesting.’ 

 

Akira deflated, flopping back onto the mattress. The greyness and discomfort all came flooding back, and he sighed, knowing it was foolish to have expected more. Sae didn’t strike him as the type to hold meaningless conversations over text. She was a face to face woman. Akira grinned despite himself. That was what he liked about her, among other things. 

 

\---

 

“Sergeant Akira Kurusu reporting for duty, Sir!” Said man saluted firmly, dark-eyed gaze staring straight ahead, past Saito and out to sea.

 

“Sergeant Kurusu!” The Major greeted Akira so loudly and jovially he was worried it might be a trick. “Heard great things about you, from our mutual friend.” Saito jabbed Akira with a pudgy elbow, signalling him to be at ease. “How are you finding Camp Nerima, Soldier?”

 

“Very good. Thank you, Major.” 

 

“Glad to hear it.” The man responded, fishing out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket. Akira took the Major’s lighter without prompt, sparking his cigarette into life for him. The smoke seemed twice as thick in the brisk dawn air as it curled around their shoulders; a lazy, silver snake. “Nothing better to start the morning off with, eh Soldier?” Saito grinned around his cigarette, extending the carton. 

 

Akira accepted. It wasn’t his first drag by a long shot. Deployment had seen him burn through almost a packet a day at times. It soothed his stress while away on foreign soil, and served to brush aside some of the crushing boredom that came with night-long guard duty. He’d been one of the lucky ones able to drop the habit the minute he got on the plane back to Japan. Saito offered his lighter, and Akira rolled the flame back into life with ease. 

 

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” He breathed deep, enjoying the rush of dizziness that the nicotine provided. The silver snake coiled a little tighter around his neck, fangs settling into a comfortable numbness in his throat.

 

“Now all I need is a cup of coffee.” 

 

“I’d be happy to make you one, Sir.” 

 

Saito laughed, dismissing Akira with a flippant gesture. His fingers were yellowed and stained, short, stubby thumb hard with a familiar smoker’s callus.

 

“No time for ass-kissing today, Soldier. You’ll need to be introduced to the underlings.” 

 

Akira smiled around his cigarette. He liked Saito already. 

 

“I look forward to it, Major.”

 

“Then you might be overestimating them,” Saito grunted, tossing his cigarette onto the concrete. He ground it out with his foot, black leather of his boots bulging at the seams. It appeared the Major hadn’t seen combat or training in some time. Akira doubted he’d have the lungs for it any longer. “Follow me, Sergeant.” 

 

Akira stooped down to snatch up the Major’s rumpled cigarette butt, depositing both Saito’s and his own into a nearby trash can as he duly followed his superior. 

 

\---

 

Akira stared at his dinner with enough intensity that his beef might have answered. It swum around in a murky brown gravy, adrift, much like its devourer. Chopsticks loose in hand, he prodded at the meat, mind far, far away. 

 

‘ _ What a day.. _ ’ Akira mused, rubbing his hand over his jaw. 

 

Saito had launched into the morning’s meeting with aplomb. The Major had glossed and fumbled over a few details, but the gist of it remained the same. Kurusu would be heading Hera squad under the Major’s name, his expertise devoted to training the men to withstand the effects of cognitive manipulation. Not brainwashing or subliminal responses - nothing so outdated. It was what the Major had whispered to him in private.  _ Cerebral engineering _ . Akira had nearly laughed. 

 

‘ _ Cerebral engineering. _ ’ Akira shook his head, lifting a piece of luke-warm beef to his mouth. ‘ _ At least they’re testing it on the men and not unwitting civilians, I suppose _ .’ It was little comfort, and the beef tasted ashen on his tongue for more reasons than shoddy chef-work. 

 

Akira was forbidden from discussing anything further than what was written on the handout the Soldier’s had received with the men. It had described their unwitting participation in all of it as ‘research trials’, complete with monetary perks and promotion promises. He wondered if they’d be honoured when some of the men inevitably wound up as vegetables. 

 

The meat sat like lead in his gut as he agonised over his position. It settled in, right next to the big lump of misplaced loyalty and icy regret that had made themselves at home long ago.

 

Kurusu gave up on his dinner, scraping his food tray into the bin on his way out of the raucous mess hall. The sun had already set as he stepped through the doors and into the cold. The base looked different under its massive floodlights; it seemed harsh. Akira felt like a mouse under a microscope. He kept his pace fast on his return to his room. 

 

The minute his door had slammed shut behind him, he rushed to his desk, picking up the phone he had left charging there during the day. He was halfway through dialling Sae’s number when a message from Futaba, or rather, Alibaba, popped up. 

 

‘Be careful, Joker. I’m not the only one with access to this phone.’ 

 

Akira’s fingers paused. He grimaced, lifting the phone closer to his eyes so he could inspect it. It looked its usual shiny and expensive self. He also knew that to assume any bug to be a physical one was a rookie mistake. 

 

‘Thanks, Oracle.’ He replied. It felt strange to use her old codename, but not unwelcome. ‘How should I proceed?’ 

 

‘Come to the old spot. I’ll see what I can do.’ 

 

Kurusu sat down on his bed, earning a tired squeal from the bedframe. Leave this soon into his assignment would be nigh-on impossible, as much as he was craving the tasty curry and coffee of LeBlanc.  He rubbed fingers along his temples. ‘ _ Picking up habits from Sae, it seems. _ ’ 

 

‘I can’t. Too soon.’ He replied.

 

‘Then you’ll have to save everything up in that big ol’ head of yours.’ 

 

Akira chuckled. He cast his eyes to the desk. ‘ _ Maybe not.. _ ’

 

A simple spiral notepad had sat there since his arrival, and it wouldn’t take too much for him to locate a pen. Akira moved to his rucksack, undoing the buckles and rummaging inside. A well-chewed, well-traveled pen was fished out. There was dust in the cap, and Akira wondered just what country it belonged to. 

 

He was halfway through the first page of his day’s experiences when his phone buzzed on the desk, bright blue light bursting into life. Akira paused, pen in hand. He had gotten sidetracked, totally forgetting to message anyone anything, let alone Sae. 

 

‘Just checking in. How did your meeting go? Niijima’.

 

He smiled when he saw her name heading the sender, dropping his pen to focus on his phone. It was endearing that she ended most messages with her name; as if he hadn’t burned the characters of her number into his head the first night he’d smoothed out her business card on his bedside table. 

 

Akira’s thumbs hesitated over his touchpad, Futaba’s warning floating before his eyes. He imagined greeting Sae in their apartment after a long day instead. Seeing her tired, warm smile at him waiting there for her. He’d wrap her into his arms, pressing kisses into her hair until she’d push him away with a soft grin. He’d catch her wrist and guide her to the kitchen, having prepared a fantastic meal for her, naturally. 

 

‘Well. Learned a lot. Can’t talk too much over type.’ He pictured pulling out her chair for her, and earning a tender kiss on the cheek as reward. ‘Talk more when we see eachother next.’ 

 

Sae’s reply was a simple ‘Okay’, that left Akira wistful in his chair, eyes closed and praying the next twenty-nine days would pass by fast, if only so he could hear her voice again. 

 

Akira knew he was hopeless; mooning over a woman who was relying on him in the strictest sense of professional. He knew his infatuation was juvenile and romanticised. He knew all the feelings swirling in his chest were foolish and ridiculous, and that he was setting himself up for heartache and failure, and yet..

 

Her business card was cool in his hand as he climbed into bed, thumbs smoothing over the matte finish as he tucked it under his pillow. 

 


	6. People-watching Parades & The Mysterious Major

 

 

Sae’s eyes scanned the soldiers from her cramped spot on the bleachers. The marching faces were all stoic and unblinking, their expressions all blurring into one big, moving mass. She hadn’t spotted Akira yet, though she had only managed to actually focus on about ten percent of the men who passed by in the parade. She felt Makoto shift next to her, her sister leaning forward to try and get a better view of the march, and hopefully, Akira.

 

All of the former Phantom Thieves seemed to be doing the same, eager eyes searching the formations striding past for their illustrious leader. _Former_ leader, Sae reminded herself. They had been for some time now, rather than actually admiring the military parade. All except Yusuke and Morgana. The former was sketching furiously in olive and desert pastels, and the other was peacefully asleep in Ann’s handbag, despite the patriotic trumpeting blaring over the speakers.

 

“God, we’re gonna be here all day. Has anyone seen him yet?” Ryuji groaned, rubbing at his eyes. “I can’t concentrate any more, all these dudes look the same in that damn uniform.”

 

“No, though I have seen some of the old guys from school..” Haru commented. She sounded far away, thoughts equally adrift as she reminisced on all of the young faces from school turned soldiers.

 

“Even if we do see him, he won’t be able to acknowledge us,” Makoto sniffed. She still looked all the same. “I just hope he’ll notice we’re here and come find us afterwards.”

 

“Why don’t we just text him?” Futaba offered, munching her way through a ridiculously large portion of karumeyaki.

 

Sae felt her teeth itch at the mere sight of the sugary toffee. She remembered the sickly sweet taste from her childhood, and how it used to make her tongue feel thick and heavy. Makoto had always liked the stuff, though judging from her sister’s nose wrinkling at the smell of the caramel, her fondness for it had disappeared over the years.

 

“Hey, we bought that to share!” Ann yelped, noticing Futaba had chewed well past halfway on their snack. She snatched the spongy cake off her friend, chomping down a mouthful so large it stuffed her cheeks. Futaba pouted.

 

“So should I text him?” Sakura whipped out her cellphone, having to hold the monstrous thing with two small, sticky hands.

 

“If he’s in formation he won’t have it on him.” Sae said quietly, eyes flicking to the Soldier at the base of the bleachers. His face was hard and suspicious as he surveyed the crowd for any mischief. “Wait,” She narrowed her eyes, spying a pair of soldiers in what looked to be an argument some distance away. One of the men was tall, towering over the other. “Is that him?”

 

She pointed, and four pairs of eyes followed.

 

“Hmm. I can’t see his face clearly..” Makoto frowned, leaning into Sae’s shoulder to try and get a better look. Ryuji simply stood up, ignoring the murmurs of annoyance as he blocked the view for the people sitting behind them.

 

All of them watched the tense exchange going on between the pair. The taller, possible Akira pointed very firmly at the shorter man, who looked like he wanted the ground to crack open and swallow him up. The parade was too loud for them to hear anything, but the man recoiling suggested he was being yelled at.

 

“I recognise that look,” Ryuji chuckled, sitting back down. “Heh. Whoever that dude is, he’s in deep shit.”

 

“Ryuji!” Ann elbowed Sakamoto, jerking her head in the direction of the oh-so-sensitive children behind them. Them, and their glaring parents.

 

“Shit, sorry.” Another jab. “Ah, I mean sugar! Geez.”

 

“Shush you two,” Makoto fired them a stern look. “I think he’s coming this way.”

 

They all resumed their staring, waiting with bated breath. The shorter man saluted and turned away under the stern gaze of his superior. He looked the epitome of a chided dog, tail between legs as he marched off as fast as his stubby legs would allow.

 

“It _is_ him!” Futaba sprang to her feet, grinning madly as she recognised the face of her somewhat-brother. She waved with both arms furiously enough they could probably flag down a passing ship for rescue.

 

“Is that Akira?” Morgana yawned, stretching languidly as he shifted out of Ann’s bag. “Boy, he looks grumpy.”

 

“Yeah..” Makoto trailed off. She frowned at the expression on Kurusu’s face.

 

The Sergeant Major looked uncharacteristically pissed off. His lips were pressed in a firm line, and his eyebrows were thunderous and close. Had he been carrying a rifle like some of his marching comrades, she might have been a tad worried he’d shoot something. Or someone.

 

“Should we go and see him?” Ryuji looked like he was itching to jump his way down the bleachers and over to his friend. “Wonder what the hell that dude did to piss him off.”

 

“Military only past that point,” Sae quoted, pointing to the sign at the foot of the stands. “We’ll just have to hope he sees-”

 

“AKIRA!”

 

All old Phantom Thieves and associates winced in their seats, as well as the several or so rows of people around them. Ann was blush free as people turned in their seats to stare at her. She ignored them, standing and waving as furiously as Futaba had.

 

“What happened to being quiet?” Makoto chastised, rubbing her ear. Futaba cackled, while Ryuji full on belly-laughed.

 

Ann’s ear-shattering screech had worked all the same. Sae watched Akira’s head snap to their location, surprise wiping away the frown on his face. He hurried to the Soldier nearest them at the foot of the bleachers, who had already retrieved his radio and was staring angrily at their little crowd.

 

“Well, that worked.” Sae smiled despite their antics, smoothing her hands along her thighs as she watched Akira negotiate with the Soldier on duty. He was as convincing as ever, and the man saluted and marched off to stare at another part of the crowds, radio remaining unused.

 

Ryuji and Ann all but leapt past the others as Kurusu beckoned them down. The barrier apparently worked both ways, as Akira remained rooted to his spot on the other side, accepting hugs over the waist-high obstacle.

 

“Should we go down?” Makoto asked. There was a tinge of something in her voice.

 

“You sound worried, Makoto.” Sae wondered.

 

“I’m not!” She replied, much too quickly for it to be true. “Not worried.. Just.. apprehensive, I suppose.”

 

“So, worried then?” Yusuke teased, having taken Ryuji’s spot. “Why is that, Niijima? He is still the same Akira we’ve always known.”

 

“No,” Makoto shook her head, voice soft. “I don’t think he is, and that's what worries me.”

 

Sae frowned, about to question further when she was interrupted by another yell. This time it was Ryuji, squawking and gesturing madly for them to come down and see their friend. Or acquaintance. Or strange, curious in-between - whatever Kurusu was in Niijima's case. 

 

Akira was smiling at them, but it didn’t take a former-prosecutor and a current commissioner to work out it was forced. The Niijima sisters exchanged a look before making their way down to where Kurusu was.

 

The Sergeant Major’s embraces were stiff and one-armed as he greeted the rest of his comrades, all except Sae. She was last, and felt inordinately awkward as Akira looked at her. His eyes were far too soft and genuine for their simple acquaintanceship.

 

“Good afternoon, Niijima.” He offered, extending his hand.

 

Sae accepted, and they shook like old compatriots.

 

“Kurusu. It's good to see you.”

 

“What she said, dude. We’ve been looking for you for _hours_!” Ryuji cut in before Akira could formulate a reply.

 

“I had no idea you were here,” He admitted, eyes softening as he took in all of his friend’s faces. “All of you, no less. What's the occasion?”

  
“We came to see you, of course!” Haru smiled that sweet smile that could melt ice, and Akira scratched his neck.

 

“I wish I’d known. I’m still on duty until the parade ends.”

 

There was a collective sigh from the more expressive of the Phantom Thieves. Morgana yowled quietly, rubbing his head against Haru’s cheek from his perch on her shoulder.

 

“Told ya’ we should'a texted him..” Futaba mumbled.

 

“But.. I’ll see what I can do. Maybe I can be relieved early, find some other sucker to go on patrol.” Akira offered, shifting his weight from foot to foot. There was almost nothing he hated more than disappointing his friends. “Maybe swing some visitor passes for you guys, give you the grand tour instead.”

 

“Really?” Yusuke perked up, eyes bright from behind his bangs as he swept his gaze over the base. “Could you perhaps show us some of the buildings? The architecture here, it's so very angular and grey. I’d like to capture the heart of it, if possible.”

 

“I’ll see what I can do, Yusuke.”

 

“Cool, so uh, how long d’ya think that’ll take?” Ryuji’s excitement had turned toward the various food stands a bit further away. “I’m starvin’.”

 

Sakamoto was ever the opportunist, but even Sae had to admit the smells wafting in their direction were delicious.

 

Akira reached into his wallet, checking for something as they all watched. He appeared satisfied by whatever he hunted, shooting them a sly grin.

 

“Come with me. I’ll show you the benefits of being an enlisted man.”

 

The others exchanged eager looks, following Ryuji’s lead and jumping the barrier to pursue their friend. They didn’t bother to follow Akira at all, hurriedly racing off to the food carts instead. The prospect of hot, delicious food was far too enticing to resist for a moment longer.

 

Sae remained on the other side of the barrier, raising an eyebrow at the implication she was to leap over it like some carefree spirit and not a woman _much_ too proper to do be doing that sort of thing.

 

“Excuse me, Miss. May I be of assistance?” Akira’s voice was playful and he matched it with a clever smile. He stepped closer to her, offering her his hand.

 

Sae scoffed at him, that competitive streak in her riling up. She moved to cross the barrier, only to feel her hand slip into Akira’s grasp rather than the cool metal of the barrier like she had been expecting. She blinked, only half aware of her movements as he drew her across the metal and practically into his arms. Her senses came rushing back all at once, and she took a step away, snarky retorts dying on her tongue. Her skin tingled where his hand had held hers.

 

Akira watched her, a faint, hesitant smile on his lips. He was waiting for her to yell at him, maybe even smack him away. She didn’t.

 

“Thanks.” Was her cool reply, and she continued onwards, leaving a dopey, dumbfounded Akira to trail on her heels.

 

“Did you see that?” Haru bumped her shoulder into Makoto’s, both of their gazes fixed on the pair approaching them.

 

It appeared neither Niijima nor Kurusu had noticed their watching of the whole exchange, and that made it all the better. Sae wore a rare, honest blush (of which she was thankful Kurusu couldn’t see), and Akira wore the first genuine smile they’d seen that day.

 

“Sure did,” Makoto sighed. “That was.. strange.”

 

“I think its cute.” Haru replied dreamily. Makoto rolled her eyes. _Of course she did_. “Akira is such a gentleman. Do you think they’re gonna get together?”

 

“Get.. together?” Makoto choked, trying to hide her cough behind her hand.

 

“Yeah!” Haru giggled. “You know, like-”

 

“I know what you mean!” Makoto interrupted, feeling a blush of her own rise to her cheeks. “Don’t you think you’re getting a bit ahead of yourself?” She blurted. She smoothed a hand over her face, trying not to sound too flustered. “I-I just.. I’ve never really thought of Sis with a guy,” She admitted. “Let alone Akira.”

 

Her sister had always been too busy and too stressed to even _think_ about dating. As far as she knew, anyway.

 

“If it had to be anyone, wouldn’t you be glad it's him, though?”

 

“I suppose.” Makoto murmured, watching the pair try to look inconspicuous as they approached.

 

Makoto wanted to say it was just Akira being his usual, chivalrous self, and that their discussion was girl-talk and conjecture. But she recognised that stupid lovesick smile on his lips. She’d seen it before, only many years ago and directed at herself, of all people. And Sae blushing? Makoto sighed again. Sae blushing was an even bigger worry. It took a lot to fluster her sister, after all, and she'd never seen it achieved by a man. Until now.

 

\---

 

“Y’know what, ‘Kira?” Ryuji started, mumbling around a mouthful of grilled chicken from his yakitori. His lips shined from grease and sticky sauce, his face the picture of blissful indulgence.

 

“Hm?”

 

“I’m thinkin’ of enlisting just for the discounts. This shit was almost free!” He waved his half-chewed bamboo stick around, bits of chicken and oil flying everywhere.

 

“Don’t say that too loudly,” Akira muttered, shaking his head. “A recruiter might hear you. Then the fun’ll really be over.”

 

“It's not over yet!” Futaba exclaimed, looking up from her phone. She was nestled against Yusuke for warmth, the latter staring up at the sky with a rapturous expression. “The itinerary said there was to be fireworks to end the day! Ugh, I can't wait. Fireworks are mega-fun.”

 

“There will be,” Akira agreed. Sae watched his mouth turn downwards. He looked uneasy. “Though whether they’re fun or not is debatable.”

 

“What?” Ryuji burst out. “You used to love fireworks!”

 

Akira’s only reply was a nonchalant grunt. He leant down to retie his boots from his spot on the bench, missing the confused looks exchanged amongst the group.

 

Sae hummed to herself. She could hazard a guess as to why his love of them had faded. She herself had seen the effects of post-traumatic stress disorder on one of her clients before. That soldier had scrambled when her door had banged closed unexpectedly one afternoon, hunching down and cowering beneath her desk. Fireworks sounded far too much like gunshots for some.

 

“Do you want to do the tour instead, Akira?” Makoto queried. The Niijima sisters were as keen as ever. Sae knew Makoto was offering an out.

 

“Don’t you guys want to see the fireworks?” Akira frowned, looking up from his boots. “The Air Force does a flyover as well.”

 

“For real?” Ryuji sat up straight from his slouch, greasy smile wide. “That sounds freakin'  _awesome_. Do they shoot stuff too?”

 

“No, you idiot.” Ann muttered, rolling her eyes.

 

“It does indeed sound wondrous,” Yusuke agreed, eyes still glued to the heavens. Winter prompted an early sunset, and this part of Tokyo was blissfully smog-free, allowing a few bright stars to twinkle down from the night sky. “Futuristic machinery carving through the most ancient of backdrops.. what a sight.”

 

“But I wanna do the tour.” Futaba groused.

 

“Why don’t we split up?” Ann suggested. Like Ryuji, she mumbled around a mouthful of her food. Only to no-one's surprise, it was dessert. Warm crepes laden with molten chocolate and ruby-red strawberries. “Some of us can stay here and the others can go with Akira for the tour.”

 

“That's fine with me,” Akira replied. He got to his feet, stretching his legs. “But anyone who wants to stay will have to go back to the stands. Unless you’re with me, this area is off-limits to civilians.”

 

“There you go with that damn word again,” Ryuji complained, polishing off the last of his yakitori. “ _Civilians_. I should make a complaint.”

 

“To who?” Akira chuckled.

 

“Niijima!” Ryuji declared, giving the woman in question a jolt. “I’d like to make a formal complaint.”

 

Sae rolled her eyes, getting to her feet like Akira. She brushed off her suit pants, trying to ignore the wrinkles that had formed and the warm presence of the man next to her.

 

“What makes you think I’m the authority here? Me being the only ‘adult’ excuse is long gone, Sakamoto.”

 

“Um..” Ryuji floundered. Ann giggled next to him, knowing what he had intended to say.

 

“You’re the most senior, Sis.” Makoto grinned slyly at her sister, helping to pull Haru up from their spot on the ground. It was better she had said it, as Ryuji probably would have phrased it in some accidentally offensive manner. “It's only fair you get telling-off rights.”

 

“What makes you think I’d listen?” Akira smirked, stepping closer to Sae. Niijima felt sparks burst into life along her skin again, like before. She tried to ignore it and the confused feelings it brought forth. She was unsuccessful. “As far as I was aware, I’m the leader around here.” His voice was jesting, and he earned a few giggles from the girls.

 

“Psh, whatever, man,” Ryuji laughed, but not _with_ him. “I remember you always goin’ on and on about how _impressive_ Niijima is. All she’s gotta do is say jump and you’ll say how high, dude.”

 

Akira groaned, lifting a hand to cover his face. ‘ _Why, oh why is he my best friend again? That idiot.._ ’

 

The giggles were more and louder this time, and he even heard a brief chuckle from Sae.

 

\---

 

“And you’re certain this area is not under surveillance?”

 

Akira bit back a joke about his and Sae’s brief getaway from the others being something of a lover’s rendezvous. He thought better of it. He couldn’t trust himself to deliver the line without blushing or stuttering, or both.

 

“Positive. It's known as smoker’s corner.”

 

“An apt name.” Sae gestured to a few crumpled orange butts rolling around in the breeze.

 

“Sorry,” He said sheepishly, kicking a couple of the stubbed cigarette remains away. “But, yes. We come here because it's one of the few places with no cameras and no officers with a stick up their ass. It’s far enough out of the way that the higher ups have little reason to even be in this area.”

 

“ _We_ come here?” Sae raised an eyebrow.

 

Akira’s sheepish feeling doubled, and he gave her a wry smile.

 

“Passes the boredom.”

 

“As does lung cancer, or so I hear. Besides, aren’t _you_ now one of those officers?”

 

“You can lecture me when I’m dead.”

 

Sae hummed, folding her arms across her chest.

 

“Anyway,” Akira continued. “It should be safe for me to give you a bit of an update here.”

 

“I’m listening.”

 

Akira took a breath, mentally dredging up his experiences from the last three or so weeks. He voiced the ‘surveys’ the men had done, which were really tests on their honesty on sensitive questions. They were crammed into windowless rooms, with strange figures in labcoats peering over their every answer. Kurusu couldn't have pictured a better way to get false answers more than that little charade. 

 

He felt his legs twitch as he recounted the physical training regime that had been foisted upon them. It was difficult and long, enough so that most of his squad had failed it on their first attempt. The best passing time had been by the narrow breadth of a second, and that was his. They were only starting to improve now, several weeks later. It was only made more difficult as he and his men's days were filled to capacity, leaving them drained and sore for a restful evening of at maximum six hours sleep. It was more often three or four, thanks to night-time exercises.

 

None of this was good enough, as Saito had informed Akira. He had to do better.

 

Sae’s patient expression had changed as he spoke and she listened. Her brows had drawn close, and her pink lips had turned at the corners. She looked taken aback.

 

“What?” She breathed. “How are you supposed to improve on any of this if you aren’t given the time? This can’t be normal.”

 

“Maybe so,” Akira offered, sparing a quick glance around their surroundings to make sure no-one had wandered into the vicinity. “But Hera isn’t normal either. Special objectives, as the Major puts it.”

 

“And they want to entrust such a sensitive operation to a bunch of sleep-deprived soldiers?”

 

“Its part of the test,” Akira chuckled. “That's the least surprising part of this whole thing, if you ask me.”

 

Sae raised an eyebrow.

 

“I’m not sure I follow.”

 

“If there's one constant I’ve learned about the armed forces, it's that we are much too fond of three AM wake-ups. You get used to it pretty quick. You have to.” He shrugged.

 

“And the strange men walking through the dormitory in the middle of the night?”

 

“Strange men, y’say?”

 

Akira spun on his heel, hand darting to his waist. He grimaced as he felt his nails scrape at nothing more than the rough pant leg of his uniform. Not permitted to be armed unless on patrol, after all. It was probably a good thing, considering if his trusty sidearm _had_ been there, he would have been nailed to the wall for pulling a weapon on his superior.

 

Major Saito wandered lazily over to the pair. The red ember of his cigarette was all they could see of his face in the darkness. Akira only recognised him by his gruff voice and the familiar squeak of his boots, straining to hold back Saito’s swollen flesh. He puffed in slow, big breaths as he approached. Sae felt a pang of annoyance leap into her gut as she watched him blow his exhale into Akira’s face.

 

“Good evening, Major!” Kurusu snapped to attention. Sae blinked at him. He was all hard lines and decorum again, the low hum of his conversation and easy chuckles swept away in the smoke.

 

The Major didn’t return the salute, leaving Akira stuck and waiting. Sae felt her skin crawl as Saito’s red-lit vision settled on her face. He didn’t step any closer to her, simply stood there, staring.

 

“Good evening.. Sir,” Sae bit her cheek, the honorific bitter tasting as it left her tongue. “It's a pleasure to meet you.” She bowed to him.

 

Saito flicked his gaze to her wrist, surprising her by grasping her hand. Niijima had half-expected him to squeeze roughly, squishing her knuckles in some masculine display like many of her male colleagues had in her former field. He did the opposite. His grasp was clammy, flaccid, and limp, and that was almost worse. She felt her discomfort double as he turned her palm, eyes roaming over her unadorned fingers.

 

“Kurusu hasn’t been honorable enough to put a ring on you yet, eh?”

 

Sae blinked at him, lips parting in surprise. She spared a glance at Akira. The Soldier hadn’t moved, and his face was impassable. Internally, Kurusu’s heart was close to beating out of his chest at the vision of Sae in glorious white, gliding down an aisle towards him. The panic at whether or not he had just been busted discussing a top-secret operative with a civilian came a close second.

 

“I.. I.. Pardon?” She managed, turning back to face the Major. His round, ruddy face had gained an amused expression that made her stomach feel a little bit sick.

 

“Oh no!” Saito rumbled out a laugh, dropping her hand and moving back to face Akira. “Don’t tell me you dragged her back here for something indecent, Soldier? Shotgun wedding, is that what yer’ hoping for?”

 

“Never, Sir!” Akira barked, body rigid.

 

He used every mental skill he had at his disposal to block out images of a crimson-eyed, black haired newborn staring up at it’s silver-haired mother in wonder. His adam’s apple bobbed. Akira felt more and more like a teenage girl lost in terrible romance novels by the second with these ridiculous fantasies.  

 

The Major studied his man for a long moment, then clapped Akira on the shoulder, laughing around his cigarette. Whatever he had seen had seemed to satisfy him, as he finally acknowledged Akira, allowing him to drop his elbow.

 

“You smoke, girl?” Saito had procured a crumpled cigarette packet from one of his many pockets, now offering it to a still bewildered Niijima.

 

“No, thank you.” She replied, polite but unsmiling. Her mouth twisted in distaste at the pungent stench of the burning tobacco.

 

The Major shrugged, tossing the packet to Akira instead.

 

“Get me a new one when you’ve finished that.” He commanded, rocking on the balls of his heels.

 

Akira nodded, stuffing the packet into his pocket. The Major didn’t miss his underling not plucking out a smoke like he usually did.

 

“Not joining me, hm? Trying to impress your lady friend?”

 

“Yes, Sir.”

 

Sae bit her lip. Kurusu continued to catch her off guard. _Was he really trying to impress her_ ? _Unlikely_ , she answered herself. It was probably just a reply to soften up the Major. So why did the prospect of it being true continue to stir up all these embers on her skin?

 

“Then take her to the fireworks, boy!” Saito boomed, tossing his still smouldering cigarette onto the ground. Niijima startled at the echo of the man’s barking order. “Not here to this dingy corner, moron! Can’t you see she's a woman of taste?” He gestured a pudgy hand to her, who was standing arms folded and awkward beside them.

 

“Yes, Sir. My apologies, Sir.” Akira blurted, bowed low, then hastily stood, grabbing Sae by the fingertips.

 

Niijima had to resist the urge to yank out of his grasp, reflex ingrained into her from years of Aikido training. Instead, she allowed herself to be pulled away by Akira. He seemed to be making a habit of holding her hand. What was most concerning about that was the fact that his fingers seemed to fit between hers so easily.

 

 

 


	7. The Major's Advice

 

“I’m sorry about that, Niijima.” Akira said quietly from his spot beside her at the railing. His hands were curled tight around the stainless steel, knuckles white as fireworks burst overhead. Showers of bright electric blue and bronze orange sparks washed their hues over his skin. He had led them both to a quiet, empty stand, one hidden behind the barrier from the civilians. They were both watching the display from their perch, but neither of them really  _ saw _ . “The Major can be a bit full-on.”

 

“Don’t worry about it.” Sae replied. She spared a glance to him. Dark circles had ringed around his eyes, making him look weary and worn. He looked older like this, exhausted from the demons that liked to linger on his shoulders. “Are you alright? It seemed like he didn’t hear our entire conversation, so you won’t be punished, will you?”

 

Akira straightened up. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and turned his back on the fireworks. 

 

“Tomorrow will tell. I get the feeling Saito knows more than he lets on.” Akira admitted. “I wish we’d had more time, though. There was a lot more I wanted to talk about with you.” 

 

Sae bit the inside of her cheek, mirroring him as she stood upright from the railings. With his phrasing just then, it sounded like.. Well, it sounded like there was more on his mind. She glanced at her watch and adjusted her handbag on her shoulder. It was late, but meetings with Akira had proved to not come along very often. That was the excuse she was going to settle on for wanting to stay, anyway. 

 

“I still have a few more minutes. Go ahead.” 

 

Akira looked at her. A part of him felt he didn’t deserve her patience. Maybe she had just come here for a relaxing evening with her sister, enjoying the parade and the sights like any other. She couldn’t with him around, not after he’d dragged her into more political conspiracies. He flashed her a jaded smile and shook his head. 

 

“Not tonight. Just one more thing I wanted to ask.”

 

“What's that?”

 

“Can I walk you to your car?”

 

Sae tilted her head. His black eyes were tired but hopeful, and she found a small part of her, one buried deep down, suddenly remembering what it was like to have someone’s attention. A man wanting to walk her to her car. A man concerned about her feelings and her safety, and not for his own personal gain, but for  _ her _ . It was novel. 

 

“My very own military escort, hm?”

 

“Exactly.” Akira chuckled. ‘ _ You could call it that.’ _ He thought. ‘ _ But mostly I just want to be close to you as much as I can. _ ’  __ “May I?” He offered his arm to her, waiting for her at the top of the metal stairs. 

 

That stubborn part of Sae she'd grown to rely on in her life reared it's head again, scoffing and sneering. She could walk down the stairs _ herself _ , thanks very much. But then there was the part that saw Akira standing there all handsome, with his soft smile and broad shoulders and tall height, and that part won, and Sae accepted. 

 

They walked in silence, and she enjoyed it. 

 

Akira was quiet and warm and solid, his presence next to her making her feel surprisingly safe. A military base was probably the safest she could be in the capital, relatively, but he was a whole new kind of stability. Her arm in his felt natural. It felt as if they did this every day - walked together like an old couple, alone in their own little backwards bubble of a time when Akira could be chivalrous without wanting something in return and Sae could enjoy it. All that was left was for him to open the car door for her when they arrived. She’d get inside, and then they’d drive off to the hills, park somewhere under a soft orange streetlight buzzing with fireflies, and he’d lean across in his seat to kiss her. But this wasn’t the fifties, and they didn’t. They couldn’t. 

 

Sae slipped from his grasp as they stopped beside her car. Makoto and Ryuji and the others were milling around in the parking lot a small distance away, and Sae didn’t quite fancy her sister questioning her on feelings and actions and  _ everything _ she was doing with Akira that she hadn’t even begun to understand herself. 

 

“Sae.” Kurusu spoke up.

 

Niijima turned from unlocking the car door. Akira was awkward and tongue-tied and extraordinarily cute. She tried not to smile, and tried not to think too hard about when he had stopped being just a friend of her sister’s and had become  _ cute _ . 

 

“Hm?”

 

“I just..” Akira fumbled with his words. He reached up in his trademark fashion, scratching the back of his neck under his cap. “I just wanted to say I’m glad you came here tonight. It was good to see you. Really good.” 

 

Sae cleared her throat softly, mouth dry as she tried to think up a response. Akira only smiled. Not to admit it aloud, but he delighted in the way she was lost for words. That and the tiny pink blush that settled on her cheeks, just below her eyes. 

 

“Oh. I.. Well, I’m glad. While we’re here, why don’t we arrange a time for our next meeting?”

 

_ ‘Talk business _ .’ She thought quickly. ‘ _ Talk business, and that way you can pretend you didn’t just feel that warmth in your chest. _ ’

 

Akira rocked on his heels. His gaze had moved, eyes distracted by the others. The group had spotted he and Sae and set about moving towards them. 

 

“How about Culture day? It's still a ways off, but probably the soonest I’ll be able to step foot from base.” 

 

Sae frowned. The others were bustling and loud and distracting as they returned, so she and Akira shifted a few feet away to continue their conversation.

 

“Whats going on with ‘Kira and your sister, Mako-chan?” 

 

Makoto blinked down at Futaba. The shorter redhead only grinned, nudging a blushing Haru in the side. The cutesy honorific was catchy, apparently. 

 

“What do you mean?” Makoto swallowed. It was easier to simply pretend she hadn’t noticed her sister disappearing off with Akira earlier. As long as she ignored it, she wouldn't have to think about it too hard. Think about it and how it kind of made her heart hurt. 

 

“I know you’re no Phoenix Wright, Makoto, but c’mon, you’re a cop, right? You have to have noticed. I mean, look at em’.” 

 

“That’s what I said.” Haru agreed. 

 

“Word for word.” Futaba nodded solemnly.

 

Makoto frowned at the two pairs of curious eyes on her. Futaba looked positively gleeful. She turned her gaze to her sister and Akira. It didn’t  _ look  _ like that much of a romantic goodbye to her. They were several feet apart with hands to themselves, but they  _ were  _ talking very quietly and their eyes never strayed from each other. She pricked her ears, eyes fixed on the concrete as she listened in. Eavesdropping wasn’t her favourite activity, but she wasn’t above listening to get the information she wanted. 

 

“You aren’t permitted weekend leave? Aren’t you an officer, Akira? I was under the impression you’d have more freedom with your promotion.”

 

“I am, and I should,” He agreed, rubbing his jaw. “But I’m also under the thumb of a lazy Major.”

 

Sae raised a brow.

 

“It's not a bad thing,” Akira shrugged. “I get the feeling you weren’t really impressed by him, but Saito is a good man. He's just been around long enough to know you can get the underlings to do everything for you. Delegating, he calls it.”

 

“The underling being you, in this case. Meaning you do all the work and he gets all the credit? Yes, he hasn’t really swayed me.”

 

“Effectively,” Akira nodded. “But that works in our favour, for now.”

 

“How so?”

 

“I make him look good enough and he lets me in, in short. We both know there is much,  _ much  _ more to be found out. Saito never even wanted in on Hera from the first place, so I get the feeling that if he trusts me, he’ll be just as willing to let me do his share of the classified work, too.”

 

_ ‘Hera? What's that?’  _ Makoto wondered. Her eyebrows knitted as she listened, arms folded. ‘ _ Is this Saito man Akira’s superior _ ?  _ Why is he telling Sae? _ ’

 

“What makes you say that?” Sae asked

 

“He told me.” Akira chuckled. “All he wants to do is hit next promotion. Once he’s a Lieutenant Colonel, he’s off-base and ‘retired’ with half-pay. He’s been angling to get out for years, so I don’t blame him, really.” 

 

“So why did he accept command of Hera in the first place?” 

 

“Thought it would be easy, is my guess. The details on paper probably looked like an easy ticket to that promotion.” 

 

“Appears he was right, considering you’re doing all the work.” Sae commented. 

 

“Exactly. As long as I keep it that way and earn his trust, we should have our first and probably best key to getting what we need to blow this whole thing open.” 

 

_ ‘Blow what open? Is this ‘Hera’ some kind of undercover operation? What on Earth has Akira gotten into now? And with Sae?’  _ Makoto’s eyes had widened as she listened to the nearby conversation. Unfortunately, she had done so obviously enough that it had garnered her sister's attention.

 

“Makoto.” The elder Niijima called. 

 

Makoto nearly jumped out of her skin. She put on the most innocent face she could muster as she met Sae’s gaze. Both she and Akira were scrutinising her; black and red eyes boring right into her forehead. She tried her damnedest not to curl into herself under their inspection.

 

“Y-yes, Sis?” Makoto cringed. She cursed herself for still recoiling at that sharp, commanding tone Sae liked to use when she wanted to know something. 

 

“Are you alright? You’ve been staring off into space for some time.” 

 

Makoto swallowed as Sae stepped closer. Her face was neutral and her voice calm, but Makoto recognised that sly, knowing lilt to her voice. It was the type of question that was answered with almost everything but the words she chose to reply with. ‘ _ She’s on to me.. _ ’ 

 

“Yep, yeah. Just tired. Ready to get going.” Her voice was high, chipper, and absolutely unbelievable in her own ears. ‘ _ Ugh. I never could act very well..’ _

 

Sae cocked her head, but said no more. Makoto knew she hadn’t been fooled in the slightest. She turned around to finish her conversation with Akira and Makoto bit her lip. Sae had lowered her voice and shifted ever so slightly further away. ‘ _ That  _ has _ to be intentional _ .  _ There goes my eavesdropping _ .’

 

“Culture day you said, right?”

 

“Yeah,” Akira nodded. “Saito will look like a real bastard if he doesn’t let me off on a public holiday.” 

 

Sae smiled, shaking her head. ‘ _ And there goes Akira’s eloquence _ .’

 

“Meet at my office then?”

 

“I’d be glad to.” He flashed a charming smile at her, full of straight teeth and sincerity. 

 

\---

 

“That woman you were with, boy. What was her name again? The one from the other night. The parade. Silver hair and pretty as a painting.”

 

Akira glanced up sharply from his paperwork. Saito peered at him over the top of his cigar from his spot opposite Akira, fingers drumming on the oaken desk between them as he waited for an answer.

 

“Her name is Niijima, Major. She works as a defence attorney-”

 

“Yeah yeah yeah,” Saito interrupted, waving his hand to shut Akira up. “Could tell she was some kinda business type just from the look of her. What I’m really asking is what she means to ya.” 

 

Akira flipped the pen between his fingers as he considered an answer. ‘ _ Thats a good question. What  _ is  _ Sae to me? _ ’ 

 

“You could call her an associate.” ‘ _ But I want her to be so much more. _ ’ “She provided a lot of invaluable help to me in the past, Sir.” ‘ _ She saved my life and I repaid her by making her risk her career and possibly her own life. Again. _ ’

 

“If you look at all ‘associates’ the way you were looking at her, I’m thinking I should be getting worried.”

 

Akira ducked his head, returning his focus to filling out the stacks of paperwork on Saito’s behalf. He didn’t have an answer that wasn’t an outright lie.

 

“You want her as more than an associate, don’t ya’, Kurusu?”

 

The pen slid a little on the page. Akira clicked his tongue, trying to correct his kanji without scribbling over the entire paper.

 

“Yes, Sir.”

 

The Major laughed, settling his hands on his bulging gut as he leaned back in his chair. 

 

“So what’re you gonna do about it?”

 

“Permission to be frank, Major?” Akira met his superior’s gaze, inclining his head as Saito waved him on to continue. “There is not much I can do. My time is currently devoted almost entirely to Operation Hera and my duties on base.”

 

“So go off-base.” Saito grunted his reply, thick eyebrows settling into a frown on his face. “So long as you keep on top of yer’ duties for me, I got no problem with you being off base. Yer’ young, go and enjoy yourself. Especially if it's with a woman like  _ that _ .”

 

Akira blinked at him. ‘ _ He says it like it's the easiest thing in the world. Only last week he came right to my damn room to deliver more work! _ ’ 

 

“I’m not owed any leave, Major.” He said carefully.

 

“Not leave, dumbass,” The Major got up from his seat with a grunt. He stabbed his half-smoked cigar into the dirty ashtray on the corner of his desk. “Barrack yerself’ off base like the rest of the officers.”

 

“I was under the impression you had to be married, or have dependents to even be considered for off-base housing, Sir.” Akira stood up, sliding the papers to Saito for him to scribble his signature on.

 

“Hm.” Saito paused, flashing Akira a look. “That's true, actually.” He grunted. “Welp, guess you’ll just have to marry ‘er, huh?”

 

Akira laughed a tight laugh, and the Major joined in with a hearty guffaw, slapping Kurusu on the back as he finished signing. 

 

“Now that's over with, time for lunch, I think.”

 

Akira tried not to roll his eyes. He said it like  _ he  _ had been the one poring over papers for the last three hours, and not sitting there in his chair, daydreaming and chewing on his cigar. 

 

“Come along, Sergeant.” Saito grunted, retrieving his cap from his jacket stand near the door. “And look,”

 

Akira did look, watching the Major’s face with slight distaste at the sweat that had beaded on his brow, simply from the act of standing up. 

 

“Send yer’ request straight to me. Don’t bother with all them paper pushers in accounts. Get yerself a woman, and if ya can’t land that Niijima or whoever, just get someone else, boy. One with a pretty face and one that can cook. Trust me. Ever had burnt ramen? That was wife number one.” Saito guffawed again, gesturing to the gold band on his finger. “Wife number two knows how to cook, I’ll tell ya.” 

 

Kurusu folded his hands behind his back. ‘ _Ah yes,_ _another of Major Tsuyoshi Saito’s pearls of womanly wisdom_. _If you can’t have the one you genuinely care for, settle for someone you see as nothing more than a piece of meat, instead._ ’ 

 

“It’ll do ya good. Nothing worse than being stuck here with all the men and no-one warmin’ yer’ bed at night for ya to look forward to.”

 

“Yes, Sir. Thank you.” Akira kept his voice as deliberately flat as he could. 

 

Saito only grunted, turned on his heel, and left, expecting his lapdog to trail along behind. Akira did, delving into his own thoughts as they made the concrete walk to the mess hall. 

 

‘ _ Find myself a woman, huh? He makes it sound so easy. Sae.. Sae and me would be complicated. Even if there could be a ‘her and me’.’  _

 

‘ _ Maybe it could be easy _ ,’ Another part of him replied. ‘ _ You heard the Major. Can’t have Sae? Get someone else. You’ve seen the girls hanging around at the military bars. They’re desperate for a husband that’ll provide everything for them. Even better if you’re not home most of the time _ .’ 

 

‘ _ And when have I ever wanted someone like that? _ ’ He scoffed to himself, looking up only to stop the mess hall door from slamming shut in his face as Saito strode through. ‘ _ What about a relationship based on affection and love _ ? _What about how I feel about Sae?_ ’

 

‘ _ Love? _ ’ The voice in his head sneered. ‘ _ You signed away your chance of love when you put on this uniform. _ ’

 

\---


End file.
